


A Matter of Time

by cultureandseptember



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Gen, Historically Accurate, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:08:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 200,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cultureandseptember/pseuds/cultureandseptember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many world cultures find meaning in the threads of life, connecting all things in a web of influence. When a tired history professor--Dr. Michelle Daniels-- is pulled into the world of Hetalia through a old map, the threads of that realm and many others will unravel. </p><p>How much will one pay to protect what is important? </p><p>(Slow-building, serious take on the "OC dropped into Hetalia" trope. Historically accurate and no pairings.)</p><p>Voted Best Female Character and Best Female OC in The 2014 Hetalia Awards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Map

  _History is always changing. – Aung San Suu Kyi, 2012_

When I teach, I feel connected—to the world, to my students, to the past, and to myself. A piece string attaches to my finger and, like the red string of East Asian myth, I become part of a wider network of knowledge and awareness. Although I know that history is a dying subject (inherently), I can't help but to try and infuse my own excitement into the minds of the bored students who stare up at me day after day.

They (most of them, at least) see history as a stepping-stone to their degree. It isn't essential to overall growth and it most certainly isn't something they _want_ to be informed about. This goes doubly so for _world_ history. The mentality of many American college students seems to be: "If it doesn't affect me, it isn't important. If I don't see it, it isn't there."

What I try to teach them is that history is _important,_ at least in some capacity.

It has always been important.

It will always be important.

It is history that determines who we are and where we are going.

"We're a culmination of our past experiences," I told them. A quarter of the roster nodded in agreement or understanding. The other three-quarters checked their cellphones for texts or the time. Five minutes until the end of class, then the freedom for summer break. They'd forget everything they'd ever learned in this class. "If you didn't pass the graduation test, would you still be here?"

A student shook his head in the front row. Another yawned. Another giggled at some crude joke that his friend had been whispering behind his hand. I tried to maintain my patience. I _love_ my job, I repeated constantly in my head, like a prayer or a curse. I loved teaching. I loved this subject. _I love my job…I_ love _my job._

"Probably wouldn't be here, but they wouldn't fail us. They can't."

Ah, and there it was. The entitlement. It was something that this generation had grown up knowing and embracing. To be honest, I was born of the 'entitlement generation' as well. The newly risen chicks that wanted to soar into the skies without ever flapping their wings. "I'm going to tell y'all a story. It's the last day of class. I think this is called for…" Some started paying a small amount of attention at the sharpness in my tone, some continued to ignore me. "When I was ten, my father got diagnosed with cancer. I was left on my own to stay at my grandmother's while my parents spent night after night in the hospital. My brother and sister stayed at my uncle's. A year later, my Dad died."

Across campus, the whistle sounded for the release of classes. Summer courses had finally ended. Some started to pack their things and stand. My patience snapped into tiny fragments. "Sit _down!_ I never said that this class was dismissed." A few jaws dropped at my audacity.

Frankly, I couldn't believe it myself. All semester, I had kept my cool. I had let them walk all over me in various cases. I had been talked-over, ignored, and disrespected at every turn. I dealt with it. I had to, if I wanted to keep my job.

By God, they were going to listen to what I had to say on the last day of class. "Do you think I would be the same person if my Dad hadn't died?"

No one responded. Alright then…Let's try again.

"Do you think this country would be the same if nine-eleven never happened?"

Again, silence. This time the silence was a bit tenser.

"Do you think that our country would exist if France and England hadn't fought the Seven Years' War? Do you think that the world would be the same without the French Revolution? Without the USSR? Without the empires? Without _history_? Do you think we would be the same people?" I flicked a spec of fuzz off my cardigan and stood straighter. "No. We exist because we _are_ history, people. We're the embodiment of all that has come before us. Think about that concept for a minute. The weight of centuries rests on our shoulders. The question is: can we stand under that kind of pressure?"

Silence hung over my class like a guillotine and I stared at them for a few more moments.

Suddenly, I felt meekness at my brash actions and my eyes dropped to the floor. _What did I just do?_

Most likely, those who had enjoyed the class up until this point had just decided to hate me for all eternity.

Gathering a calming breath to sooth my nerves, I glanced up toward their still-stunned faces. "It's not that easy, you know. You can try to ignore the world—try as much as you want—but you still live on this Earth. Because of that…Because of that, you are a culmination of the past. Whether you like it or not. You're free to go. Have a good summer…"

Sighing, I fell into a nearby chair and watched as my students darted for the door.

After a year of teaching community college, it still hadn't become any easier. I still expected my students to _care_ , to give a damn about the history of their existence.

Perhaps I over-romanticized everything in my mind. Maybe I was just another overly-obsessed and infatuated history professor. Soon enough, my dishwater brown hair would turn silver with time and I would be the nightmare professor that scares the hell out of freshman students. A shiver ran up my spine at the thought. I never wanted to be like that.

"Uh, Dr. Daniels?" I turned to see one of my quietest students smiling down at me from his immense height.

Plastering on a completely fake smile, I tried to seem courteous and supportive (as I was taught was expected of college professors).

"I agree with you, you know." I felt my pleasant smile fade away. _What?_ "We—we _are_ connected to the past, no matter what." My brows crawled up my forehead. This was the first time Corbin had _ever_ approached me. "Although we don't seem like it, quite a few of us _do_ actually care about this subject." Why did I feel like crying at that reassurance? "The jerks in class, they don't speak for all of us. Rachel, Cody, Khadijat…A few others. I know you never knew, but we always met outside of class to discuss the readings."

"You—You do—You did?" The semester was over. Why didn't they tell me this before? I would have given them extra materials or done something to help them with their studies. Then again, was it my horrible teaching that was causing them to have to meet outside of class? Maybe _that_ was it. I tried to hold back my tears. "W-Why?"

"Well," Corbin shifted and grinned down at me, "it's because we love the subject. Besides, you're—like—the best history teacher ever. We like to talk about you when we meet up, what you've said in class. Rachel has a list of quotes from your lectures in her binder. She puts them up on our Facebook group. I just—" He stopped and lowered his eyes to the linoleum tile. "We just felt bad since we never actually spoke up all that much in class.

"You know, those jackasses, they always talked over us and…Well, there was only so much you could do because you're not tenured. Your hands are tied. You really can't kick people out of class." I felt my jaw drop. He was right. My hands had been tired all year long. There's only so much that a non-tenured lecturer can do in such situations. Throwing students out of class was out of the question because the Dean would become involved if the student chose to argue. It was easier to sack the professor than deal with legal issues. "Um, because of that…We kinda got you a present for the end of the semester. I was elected to hand it over since I ended up having the highest grade on the last paper."

Stunned, I took the proffered gift bag from his thin fingers. It was light and seemed to be something rather small. Uncertain, I glanced up at my student. He gestured for me to open it. "I—I don't know what…I don't know what to say. Honestly, I never…"

"Never thought we were listening? Never thought we cared? Never expected to get a present for your efforts?" He grinned wider and shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "Eh, it's hard not to. Pay attention, that is. Those people who don't listen…They never will. They're never gonna open their eyes to see the world around them. You…I guess you could say that you woke a few of us up." I pulled a folded sheet of paper from the bag. As I continued to unfold it, Corbin explained the reasoning. Tears blurred my vision. "Uh, well, it was really Khadijat's idea. To get you a present, I mean. We were all in a coffee shop downtown when she mentioned it. Took the rest of the afternoon to find the right gift. It didn't cost much 'cause we found it at an antique store."

"And because you're poor college students," I laughed breathlessly.

"Well…" he chuckled, nodding his head. "There's that, too."

It was a map, a world map. The edges were worn with time and were a ragged brownish color. It had to be at least fifty years old, maybe more considering the faded watercolors. My hands were shaking as I laid it upon the table, pressing out the wrinkles. "I—I—Thank you."

Corbin just shrugged nonchalantly, "You're welcome, Dr. D. We know you've been having a hard time this semester anyway without those jerk-offs in our class making every Monday, Wednesday and Friday suck balls." He started for the door as I continued to stare at the map, not even phased by his colloquial tone. "Have a great summer break and…uh, thanks for everything!"

With that, he was gone.

This was so unusual. In three years of teaching (two at the graduate level and one in community college), I had never received a present from my students.

I'd never had _anyone_ apologize for their classmates.

I'd never had anyone tell me 'thank you for everything.'

The quiet ones generally remained quiet. The loud ones never gave two cents about my feelings on being ignored or down-trodden.

It was just…unbelievable.

Was I a good teacher then? Had the things I said gotten through to some of them? Somehow, was that the case? Tears of joy welled up in my eyes.

Yes, I had done it! I had fulfilled some amount of my purpose. Seven years of schooling and three years of teaching just to reach this point. All of that hard work…

"Thank you," I muttered again. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…" I packed up the books and notes, placing the map into the safest space in my messenger bag (inside my laptop). I couldn't just sit in the classroom crying. Soon enough, another class would enter and I couldn't be that strange teacher that lingered forever after her students left.

Hurrying down the stairs, I pulled out my cell and dialed a quick number. "Alicia. You won't—"

" _Hola_ ," she responded drowsily. "You out of class now?"

"Yeah, I just got done. You won't believe what my students got—"

"They _got_ you something?" She sounded shocked. Of course she was. She was my officemate. As a lowly instructor at a community college, I didn't have enough power to have my own office. Instead, they placed me with another worn-down history professor. It's the fun of teaching in secondary education—not enough money, not enough space, not enough time. Too many papers to grade. Ha.

I stepped out into the bright sunlight, walking briskly toward the worn building at the back of campus. The grass on either side of the narrow covered pathway looked wild and the students were crammed into this tiny space if they didn't want to be under the sweltering heat of the sun.

The college itself didn't have enough money to build out (even with all of the extra students on campus that we couldn't necessarily accommodate).

"They got me a map," I smiled happily. "Said that they actually loved my teaching and that they were sorry for not speaking up more in class!"

"No _way_ ," she breathed.

"Seriously, right? I couldn't believe it myself!"

Alicia gave a triumphant laugh, "You see? I've been telling you for years. I've been saying it for three damn years. Ain't I been saying it, Michelle? Huh? I've been saying it." I heard something screech in the background and I knew that she had gotten so wound up that she was now standing. Her chair was a screeching metal contraption. "You're an awesome history professor, always have been. Some people are just called to do things. You were called to teach history. _Al que ha de ser charro, del cielo le cae el sombrero,_ you know?" No, I didn't. No hable Español. And she knew that, too. French was another story entirely. If only she spoke French…"No one loves the subject more than you and you even try to make it _interesting_ for your students. Psh, I don't even bother. You're freakin' awesome, don't ya know?"

Taking the phone from my ear, I hit the 'end' button and stepped into my tiny office. "I know I'm pretty darn cool, but if that were the case, more of my students would pay attention."

She turned, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder. "Bullshit," she retorted as she watched me sit down on our small office couch, " _a fin de cuentas,_ that is their fault not yours. They are the ones choosing to get the lower grades. That isn't in your control."

I smiled up at her, "Yours bombed the final, huh?"

"Crashed and burned," she sighed. "I don't blame myself for it though. They're the little dweebs that decided to ignore all of my office hours and the extra help I offered." She let out a string of incomprehensible curse words in Spanish before throwing herself into her chair. It screeched in protest. "Ay! I don't care anymore! Can't I just go be a stripper, Michelle? I thought I'd have my own office by now…"

"Am I really that bad?" I questioned with a smirk. I pulled out the map and ran my hand over it again. She eyed it before smiling at me. "Don't say it."

"Aw, you're like a proud _madre_! Look at that face!" The glare I sent her was nothing short of withering.

I shifted and glanced away, "I don't approve of you becoming a stripper."

"Nice change of subject," Alicia complimented off-handedly. "Anyway, I'd get paid better and I'd work better hours and I wouldn't have all the emotional stress. I might even have time to date." She sucked in a dramatic gasp and her eyes widened. I cringed. I knew where this was going. "You should come be a stripper with me!"

With a smirk, I glanced down at my dress pants, pumps, and cardigan. "Yes, I'm certain that's a great plan."

"I know! Yeah—" She stopped and glared. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"What gave me away?"

Sinking down in defeat, my friend shrugged. "It probably is a bad idea anyway. I can't dance worth shit and you don't have any rhythm whatsoever. We'd be laughed off the pole."

I shrugged, " _You'd_ be laughed off the pole. I'd be working the floor. Personal preference, I suppose." As she broke into raucous laughter at my straight-faced joke, I carefully placed the map on my desk. "You know I can dance. You've seen it in person. My rhythm is a handicap, but it doesn't stop me from dancing anyway."

"Not like _that!_ "

"Anyone who comes in isn't going to care if I'm on beat or not," I replied with a level tone.

Her jaw drops, "I've seen you ballroom dance like once or twice. Salsa, tango, waltz. I've never seen you—" She choked on her coffee and wildly waved her hand up and down. "Drop it like it's hot."

"I can 'drop it like it's hot.' In fact, you'd be surprised just how good I am at lap dancing. It's a talent that I rarely show. B-Because, well, look at me." Gesturing to my cardigan, I turned from the map and popped one hip out to the side while crossing my arms. "Please, I was in _a sorority_. Most of us know how to dance in some capacity or other. Generally, it was the other."

She stopped laughing, turning to stare me in shock. After a moment, I grinned despite myself. She caught my expression and squawked, "You're pulling my leg!"

My eyes rolled, "Of course I am! I may have been in a sorority, but I was the wallflower of that sisterhood. I can't drop anything except my face when I fall down on the dance floor. I can partner dance, but that's about it. And even that's…troublesome." At the small anime reference I just made, I smiled outright. It was rare that I got to pull a reference like that so seamlessly. "Ah, don't you have a…class—like—right now?"

Alicia gasped, jumping out of her chair. With a flurry of quick movements, she threw on her coat and scarf. The whole time she was speaking in rapid Spanish and English. It was a common occurrence, one that I had grown accustomed to over the years. Whenever she gets rattled, she zooms back and forth between her languages. " _Maldito!"_ I snorted, knowing that one well. "You're a bad influence! I should have left five minutes ago! It's the last day of class. Oh, what does it matter? It matters because I bought those bastards candy!"

"You brought them _candy_?"

She paused and gave me a bland look, "It's student evaluation day. Of course I brought them candy!" Once again, she flew into gathering her things. _"¿Por qué tengo que ir a enseñar a esos pequeños bastardos?_ "

I got the basic gist of what she was saying and I let out a laugh. "Because that's what you're being paid to do…and you've got sixty seconds."

" _¡Cállate!_ I'll get there when I get there!"

Shaking my head, I just smiled as she finished packing her bag. It was such a routine that I wasn't even shocked when she slammed her laptop shut as hard as possible in her frustration. Really, it was a mystery how the thing hadn't broken into pieces under her hand already. " _Avoir une bonne classe!_ I'll probably be gone by the time you back."

"French sucks, Spanish rules!" I rolled my eyes at her. "I won't be coming back to the office after class. I've got some research to do in the library before heading home. Christiana has a show at eight. You'll be okay by yourself, right?" She threw her bag over her shoulder and started for the door, "Bye! Don't become a stripper without me! Be careful on your way ho—" And she was gone, probably still talking even though she was already outside.

My eyes trailed over toward the stack of student papers that I still needed to grade. Heaving a sigh, I grabbed my pencil and set to work. I noticed the map as it was caught on the corner of the paper mountain as it shifted toward me. As it did so, the map slid over the edge of my desk and landed on the floor by the door. I let out a frustrated growl, but didn't rise to retrieve it. I would do so before heading out for the evening.

* * *

It was nearly nine before I decided to end my torturous grading session.

Four hours.

Good Lord, too long.

My head was hurting terribly from both the horrible papers and the dim light. Alicia's lamp didn't provide much by way of illumination and I was essentially sitting in a dark room by the time the sun went down. Stretching my muscles, I tried to work the feeling back into my aching hand.

Back in grad school, grading had been the bane of my existence. At first, it was an exciting concept—having the power to evaluate, but that novelty fell away after the first paper.

Such papers…

Perhaps I should give an example: _The Star-Spangled Banner was written in response to the Civil War by Abr Lincon_.

My historic heart ached.

 _No_ , I wrote in response, _it was written in reply to the War of 1812 by Francis Scott Key—not Abraham Lincoln._

To myself (from a more personal, less professional perspective), I thought the mix up was hilarious.

As a professor, I didn't know how to react.

In the darkness of my office, I began to gather my things. I had been reading _War and Peace_ during my free time (ha, what free time?) for the past month or two. It was my third time through, admittedly, and I really didn't want to read _Moby Dick_ or _Jane Eyre_ for at least another few years. _The Art of War_ was stuffed into my bag as well before I gave a considering glance toward my laptop. My head shook. I had my old one at home and I didn't want the extra weight on my shoulder after those gruesome four hours I had just endured.

Settling my knit hat over my head and my scarf around my neck, I started for the door. A quick click and I was in complete darkness. It was so engrained into my habits that I didn't even have to see where I was going to get out.

My heel landed on something and I felt (and heard) it tear underneath my weight. What could be—

The map!

Heart leaping into my throat, I spun around and began frantically searching for the lamp switch. I could see nothing in that inky blackness. Where was it? There! I could see it right in front of my face. Oh, how could I forget the map? I couldn't have ruined it so soon. My fingers wrapped around the light switch.

Wait.

This wasn't right.

How could I see the lamp switch when it had been so dark just moments before?

Just to be sure, I flipped the light to the 'on' position. Nothing happened, but the light in the room grew brighter—tinted a light greenish hue. Cautiously, I turned around and felt my heart thunder in my chest.

That…couldn't be possible.

The map— the map that my students had so kindly given me—it was glowing. The tear from the heel of my pumps sparked with green lightning, leaping outward from the gash. I stumbled backward, the back of my thighs slamming into Alicia's desk. Something toppled to the floor and shattered upon impact, but I paid it no mind.

Bright shocks of radiance flashed from the fissure. The flashes built in intensity with each ebb of the light. At first it was slow, rhythmic, like the waves of the ocean. Then, it grew more and more intense. The repetition became faster and faster and faster. With it, I felt my heart fly to an unhealthy pace.

Th-bump, th-bump, th-bump, th-bump, th-bump, th-bump.

The strands of hair about my face seemed to be lifted by a light wind. Gasping at the sensation, I pushed myself farther away from the now-radiantly shining map. It seemed though, that no matter where I tried to go in that tiny office, there was no escaping that surge of power. Everything in my body seemed charged. My muscles tightened in preparation for something, anything, for whatever was about to happen. There was no time to think about how utterly preposterous this whole incident was. There was only time to try and escape.

Whatever this was…It wasn't good.

The green light only became more powerful. The hairs on my arms began to stand up and a shiver ran down my spine as a feeling of dread poured over my heart. My eyes flickered toward the window on the other side of the room.

My only chance.

Taking one final glance toward the map, I turned on my heel and darted for the window.

That's when the sounds started. They came from the tear, from the brightest of the light. I couldn't quite say how I knew, but I could sense that was their origin. Panic made my hands quake as I attempted to wrench the window open wide enough to escape. The voices were growing clearer and clearer until I could make out their exact words. For some reason, as they became louder and the light became even brighter, I found myself growing hopeless.

" _You bloody wanker, I need your_ help _!"_

" _My hands are tied, Iggy. Dude, what do you expect me to do? Go against my leaders?"_

" _Yes, damn it!"_

Trapped. I was trapped.

Terrified, I turned to press my back against the wall. Green lamination was coating every surface like mystical lava. It was spreading slowly from the epicenter of the map's tear. I couldn't breathe, edging to the farthest corner of the room.

No…No...Please.

" _Ve~ Mister Germany, are you certain you want to do this?"_

" _I haven't a choice. I never had a choice. They left me no choice."_

I didn't know what would happen when it reached me. Death would likely be quick. My mind was racing with possibilities. Thinking quickly, I wrenched off my bracelet and threw it out the window. Someone would find it. That was the best I could hope for.

The voices grew louder, so loud that I had to press my hands to my head.

" _You will do as I say!"_ An German accented voice growled.

" _Non! I will not!"_

" _You will. For the sake of your people, you will."_

Cries for help, screeches of pain. Fear multiplied in my heart as the light wrapped around my foot and began to crawl up my leg. There was a prickling sensation as it traveled upward, around my waist and finally to my chest. It lingered there for a few moments, ebbing and flowing. My lungs rattled as if I were dying.

The green started to transform to a pale gold before—

All at once, everything went white.

There was no time to scream.

No time to think.

No time to cry.

No time to run.

No time.

Just, _white_.

* * *

"A local young woman was reported missing on Friday morning after authorities received a tip from an unknown source. Police say that the young woman, an instructor at the Highlands Community College, was last seen in her office around five in the evening." A picture was placed on the left hand side of the screen. A woman with brown hair and meek brown eyes. Unremarkable, but with a pleasant smile.

The screen shifted to show an older man, a red, white and blue bandana wrapped around his head. He looked to be a biker with his long gray hair and long silver beard. Not to mention, the worn leather jacket that draped over his small frame. "Michelle was a nice girl, a real nice girl, ya know. Always tried real hard to please everyone. It's really a shame…It's just unreal. We'll find her with any luck. God willin'."

"That was the Michelle Daniels' grandfather, Tim Daniels, the owner of well-known Daniels Construction in Nashville."

"Michelle had just received her doctorate degree three months prior to her disappearance. Friends and family say, 'She was the kindest, gentlest soul.' If you have any information regarding her whereabouts, they are offering a reward." The newscaster nodded solemnly, looking to the papers she held. "Kansas City Police have started an investigation into the disappearance. So far, there are no leads, save for a bracelet she was said to have never taken off found just outside her open office window. A candlelight vigil is being held at Michelle's church in a show of support for the family."

"We're all inconsolable," a small, black-haired woman cried. "She's out there somewhere and, come Hell or high water, we're going to find her. She—She—" Shaking her head, she motioned for the camera to leave. " _Dejame_! Just…leave me alone."

"So terrible…" the male anchor commented, shaking his head. "Our thoughts and prayers go out to the family of that young woman. Very tragic. We hope they find her soon."

"In other news…"

With a click, the screen went black.


	2. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michelle is confronted with the impossibility of her situation.

_I put it on the shelf, from which the historians, when they have time, will select their documents to tell their stories. We have to think of the future and not of the past. –_ Winston Churchill, 1940

A flash of brilliant white.

Bright and intense, I could feel the heat of it on my face. Behind my eyes lids, the light moved and then faded. I found myself in darkness once more, standing, but not moving. Slowly, feeling began to creep up my limbs, from my fingertips and toes. I could feel the air, hot and dry. A cool sheen of sweat on my skin made me shiver.

Wind was rushing past my ears, but I dared not open my eyes. Then it seemed the floor was gone. My stomach was suddenly in my throat and I felt as if I were going to be sick.

I was falling.

My eyes opened slightly and I could see a spectrum of flashing lights. I wondered for a moment if I was having some sort of seizure or epileptic episode. I had mild epilepsy and it did sometimes cause problems, but never to this degree. It was never like this. Never this violent.

A searing pain started in the center of my forehead a spread like lava down my face, neck shoulders, and arms. It set the nerves along my spine and down my legs afire with intense white-hot pain.

I screamed, throwing my eyes open to look up.

Images swirled past in a haze. Things that seemed vaguely familiar.

A man with a cane and a lab coat, a four person team in military fatigues walking through a ring of water, a wide expanse of plains where horses were running free, a towering castle above a dark lake…

I felt bile rise in my throat as the pictures shot past my eyes. They moved so quickly that my mind could barely keep up. More and more. Faster and faster. Giant robotic beings, a police booth, a remarkable spaceship disappearing in a streak of bright light…

When one dies, isn't it that person's life that is supposed to flash before their eyes?

Where was _my_ life?

My family? Where was my family?

Where were my grandfather and my father? Where were my great-grandparents? Shouldn't they be greeting me in the afterlife?

I was dying, right?

These images before me, they were movies, television shows, and books. All of which I enjoyed, true enough, but they were by no means _my life_. If I was going to die, I wanted to see images of my family, friends, and memories of my twenty-four years of life, not a rundown of the world's broadest fandoms.

Bigger and brighter mirages began to hurry past and I could hear noises issuing from each, echoes in the otherwise dark abyss.

Like some crazy movie reel, it played on.

Twelve animals gathered about a table, a giant high school for the rich…

An ancient city painted red and gold. The bright call of a bird filled my ears as an old woman's words echoed through the emptiness.

" _And thus, the young lady of legends opened the door to another world, and likewise began our tale._ "

When would this roulette end?

I grasped my head tighter and felt everything suddenly shift. I fought the urge to throw up. There were more distinct figures in the mist. Bright colors. Red and silver, green and white, purple and black. Feudal Japan. Wait…I knew all of it.

" _When did you become so wise?_ "

Another wave of pain and I felt as if I was being pulled backward, flying as such speeds that I felt my insides pulling against her chest. My legs and arms were going numb from their helpless danging. I closed my eyes and prayed that whatever attack this was would end soon.

One way or another.

" _Look, everyone! This is what hatred looks like! This is what it does when it catches hold of you! It's eating me alive, and very soon now it will kill me! Fear and anger only make it grow faster!_ "

I knew this quote from long ago, from my childhood.

" _Was it all just a dream? Or maybe a vision? No, it was real…_ "

Animes were running past like ghosts in a violent maelstrom.

" _I will never give up…I never go back on my word…that's my way of the ninja!_ "

I had never been the greatest fan, but I was a fan nonetheless.

Why were they here in this nightmare? Why was I seeing these things and not my own memories?

Then, things I recognized—

Almost as if I had come full-circle, coming back home. I could see armies, from all over the world. Some in armor, some in fatigues. Massive battles, wars.

I witnessed the birth of heroes and the fall of kingdoms, all within just a few moments.

History.

" _Soldier of my Old Guard: I bid you farewell."_

I knew those words. It had to be…

Napoleon Bonaparte. 1814. It was said in French while a man was scribbling on a sheet of parchment, whispering to himself as he wrote.

I felt myself spinning, faster and faster and faster before I was dropping. Like gravity had grabbed me by the throat and was yanking me down to Earth or the depths of Hell.

" _Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war."_

The Gettysburg Address. 1863.

" _Human life for us is sacred, but we say if any life is to be sacrificed it shall be ours; we won't do it ourselves, but we will put the enemy in the position where they will have to choose between giving us freedom or giving us death."_

Emmeline Pankhurst. 1913.

A wave of heat overtook me before I slammed into something hard, blacking out for a moment.

I thought of nothing. Not the pain, not the sick feeling in my stomach. Nothing. And then, it all came rushing back. My senses were waking from the onslaught of sensations that the seizure or attack had brought on.

 

* * *

I could feel something soft under my head and could hear talking, though I couldn't yet process what was being said.

Feeling ebbed into my chest and I felt a sharp pain behind my lungs, limiting the size of breaths I feasibly could take. This was wrong. Wrong. What had happened?

Everything hurt, as if I had run a marathon or been dropped from a building or been in a car accident or been shot.

Moving my fingers slightly, I could feel the joints lock and tense. Ah…It _hurt_.

Despite how heavy my eyelids felt, I forced them open. The world came into focus, the ceiling of white plaster. My lips felt dry and drawn. I could hear something, someone speaking.

A radio, a speech.

" _If we can stand up to him, all Europe may be free and the life of the world may move forward into broad, sunlit uplands. But if we fail, then the whole world, including the United States—"_

"BULLSHIT! I call bullshit!" Someone shouted to my right. I jumped at the suddenness of it. "He can't say—"

"Shut up, you bloody git!"

"— _a new Dark Age made more sinister, and perhaps more protracted, by the lights of perverted science. Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duties, and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say, 'This was their finest hour.'"_

Blinking in the bright light of what seemed to be an infirmary, I couldn't help but feel a little stunned at what I had just heard. It was a speech later known as "Their Finest Hour," given by Winston Churchill at first crest of World War II. The speech itself was phenomenal, truly one of the best given in history. France had just fallen to the German forces and the British Commonwealth was really the only force fighting the Germans at the time. Greece had fought Italian control, indeed, and China was battling Japan, but Britain was virtually alone on the western front. They made use of their commonwealths such as Canada, but the island nation was fighting a desperate battle.

"Hey, Iggy, she's wakin' up."

"Don't _call_ me that," another person retorted. A face appeared hovering just above me. "Good morning, Miss. How are you feeling?"

Someone snorted nearby, "How do you think she's feelin,' dude? She looks like the rougher end of a—"

The blond man sent a sharp glare toward the right hand side of wherever I was. Glancing about, I realized that I was in a bed, a hospital bed. Something…Something didn't seem right. When he turned back around, I could see his features a bit better than before. Perhaps my eyes were still adjusting.

Corn-yellow hair and emerald green eyes. His eyebrows were _much_ too large for his face. Even as I noticed these things, he sent me a comforting smile. "Now, without that _wanker_ —" he shot another look at the other man, "interrupting, would you mind telling me how you feel?"

"I—" There was a lump at the back of my throat and I let out a weak cough. That cough turned into a violent series of hacks. Why did I feel so weak?

"There, there. That's a girl. Just breathe." With a pair of strong hands, he helped me to sit up. "What are you sitting around for, you lazy twat? Get the girl some water."

"Geez, alright. Bossy Brit."

I glanced over to see a young man rolling his eyes as he stood and walked from the room. Just as I started to get the coughing fit under control, he stepped inside and handed a glass of water to me. With a grin, he threw himself back into the bedside chair. I gulped down half the glass in just a few moments.

"Now then," the British man murmured after a few moments. "How do you feel now?"

"Like I was run over by a truck," I muttered.

The man beside the bed shot back to his feet, pointing a finger in my direction. "You're American!"

Blankly, I stared at his intense facial features. Bright blue eyes that seemed to burn with some intense fire. Dishwater blond hair. His other hand boasted a fist which was held up for some reason in a victory pose. My brows pulled together in confusion. "Yeah, I am. Aren't we _in_ America?"

His eyes widened and he opened his mouth only to shut it again a moment later.

"You're in England, Miss."

I had just been in Kansas City, the middle of the United States. I had been in my office just a few minutes…

Wait, that couldn't be right. I had just woken up in a hospital. What had happened between my office and…this place?

My eyes pulled shut and I felt my head begin to ache. Flashes of various things: fandoms, animes, movies, books, history…So much history…

So, so much history…

Bright, intense white light. Green. Green. Green…

"The map," I whispered after a moment of contemplative silence.

"Huh? What was that?"

"N-Nothing," was my weak reply.

There had been a tear in the map. It had started glowing with that eerie green light. I hadn't been able to escape before it—Before it pulled me in.

Glancing frantically around the room, I couldn't help but to notice the strange amenities. There was no fancy equipment, no television, no phone. The entire room appeared like something out of a forties film.

That…couldn't be right. I—I couldn't be…

"So," the man to my right started. I turned to face him with wide eyes. His attire was that of Air Force officer. Khaki jacket, white shirt, brown tie, khaki pants. A pair of square-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. That…couldn't be right. Military-issue eyeglasses were round and silver-trimmed. My great-grandfather had a pair from when he was in the war. I could remember playing with them when I was little. "You're from the good ol' US of A, huh? Whereabouts?"

Shaking at the realization I was slowly coming to, I glanced around at the room before seeing the intensely observing face of the blond British man. His outfit seemed strange as well. The green of the British Army. Something wasn't right with his outfit either. Even if this were a dress uniform, it wouldn't be that exaggerated of a green color. "Are you alright, Miss?"

Alright? No, I most certainly was _not_ 'alright.' Everything seemed to pointing toward the fact that I had been thrown _back in time_ , however absolutely ludicrous that was. The old hospital room, the outdated uniforms— I looked across the room with a blank stare, then to the soldier, and some sense of familiarity washed over me.

He smiled broadly, confusion still pulling his brows together. "Dude, Iggy, I think this chick might be a nut job."

No way.

_Draw a circle, that's the Earth._

No.

My eyes went wide and I turned to face the British man fully. He was looking down at me with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Large eyebrows. Blond hair. Green eyes.

_I am England._

Mouth dropping open, my gaze swiveled to the man standing on the other side of the bed.

Cowlick. Glasses. Loud personality.

_I am America._

"Oh hell…" I muttered to myself.

There was no way.

Absolutely no _freakin'_ way.

My heart started to thunder in my ears.

_Th-bump, th-bump, th-bump, th-bump._

It couldn't be…I couldn't possibly be _in_ an anime. That would be crazy. Maybe I just graded too many papers. I-I mean, going back in time would have been a bit more reasonable, wouldn't it? Entering into the world of an anime and going back in time? That was stretching reality way too far.

Did reality even exist anymore?

And the map! How could _the map_ have sent me into another realm? Did that make any sense?

No! It most certainly did not! Things like this did not just happen because some old map decided to turn into a magical talisman!

"Hey, you okay?" America— the personification of my home nation— asked me with a note of concern. _America_ , damn it! "You, like, zoned out. One minute you're all like…" His face was blank for an instant. "The next minute you're all—" A look of horror washed over his face and I stared in shock. "What's the deal, huh? You a crazy or somethin'?"

I was speaking to a personification of an entire _nation_. I was speaking to a fictional person. To be more accurate, _he_ was speaking to _me_. I was too startled to choke out a response. The whole idea tore through my already jumbled brain like an unrestrained freight train.

Just as I was thinking this was insane and not real, I started thinking of all the ways this could go wrong.

The show had been something I watched during my undergrad years. I had been borderline obsessed, actually. In fact, I knew quite a lot about each of the characters—save a few.

From my knowledge of history, I would theorize over their interpersonal relations and how they would react personally to certain wars and battles. It was a pastime and it _passed_ with _time_. Since entering into my grad school, I didn't have time to spend on anything but my studies. Much less after I got my doctorate.

Even so, I knew when _Axis Powers_ was set.

World War II.

Gleaning more information from my context clues (their attire, the state of the infirmary, the address from Winston Churchill [which I couldn't believe I had heard live in some wild capacity]), I could guess that I had been thrown into the middle of the Second World War.

It must have been too much for my mind to process because the only response was: _Not the best place to land._

"YO!" A hand waved in front of my face and I tried to wrangle in my fraying nerves. I'd have to keep my composure, deal with this on my own once they had left. America seemed to be growing increasingly concerned at my state. "You keep going off into la-la land."

"She has a _concussion_ , stupid!" Britain growled over my head. "I apologize for his rudeness, Miss. He's still young. And he's an idiot. More the latter, really."

I had to resist the urge to snort in amusement. As awful as this predicament was, and as certain as I was that I would lose composure as soon as these two left the room, the antagonism between Britain and America was still extremely entertaining. "That's—That's alright."

America practically jumped in the air, "Oh _hell_ yeah! She speaks!" Something—a bed pan, perhaps?—slammed into his head. He fell back into the chair in a heap, cradling his skull. "OW! DAMN IT, BRI—"

"What is your name, Miss? If you don't mind my asking, of course!" Britain overrode America's near outing. I assumed from this that the Nations weren't common knowledge in this world and were likely being kept secret. This would make sense, especially during a time of war.

With the Axis powers slowly taking over Europe, capturing a Nation would probably mean that his people would eventually fall to their might. I didn't know for sure though.

For a moment, I considered how to answer him.

Back in 1940 (I'm guessing the year from the date Churchill's speech was given), women with doctoral degrees (especially at my young age) were extremely rare. Best to drop that suffix. "Michelle Daniels," I smiled slightly and bowed my head, "Nice to meet you."

"Well, Miss Daniels, my name is Arthur Kirkla—"

"I'm Alfred _F._ Jones! Great to meetcha, lady!"

Fearing for America's life at the anger in Britain's eyes, I gave a cautionary look around the room. "Where—Where am I?"

"Did you forget already? You're in England." America responded with a boisterous laugh. Some might have cringed from the sheer volume of it, but I was used to rowdy classrooms. Alfred's loudness was nothing out of the ordinary. "Oh, you meant 'where' in England, right?"

Britain pressed his face into his palm and sighed, "That was implied, wasn't it?"

"I don't do so good with 'implied,' dude. You know that!" America retorted with a flippant wave of his hand. Goodness, their bickering was distracting me from this absolute conundrum I had been dropped into. I couldn't quite decide if that was a good or bad thing. "Speak plain and simple English, man. That's all I get."

"She was speaking English, damn it! I would know I _created_ the bloody language." His emerald eyes shot over to me and I made my best effort to put on a slightly confused expression. His mouth opened and closed before he shrugged, "Well, hypothetically speaking, of course. And don't call me that!"

"HypOH-checka-wacka? Chyeah, whatever," America responded. "You're in a hospital—"

"Infirmary," Arthur interjected, looking peeved.

"—in a safe house just outside of London." Ah, so I was in a field hospital. With London under the threat of air raids, the underground hospitals were likely overrun and it would make logical sense to keep the Nations out of harm's way. The Battle of Britain was due to begin soon.

If I guessed the exact date, I—Well, I had to be in _June_ of 1940. That was when "Their Finest Hour" had been given before Parliament.

The Battle of Britain started not long after, in July.

Not a good place to land, indeed.

"So, whereabouts are ya from, Daniels?"

"You should address her properly!"

I glanced to Britain, seeing an angry flush working up his neck and into his ears. Best to calm him down before he explodes. He's got a long war ahead of him. "It's alright. I'm from America, so his way of addressing me _don't_ bother me a bit." I intentionally worked in some incorrect grammar just to prove my point.

America gave a triumphant laugh, pointing at Britain like a child. "HAHAHA! You see? Listen to the dame, she knows what she's talking about."

Before Britain could retort, I answered, "Kansas City. I'm from Kansas City."

"Ah, the heartland." He placed a hand over his chest. This was oddly moving for some reason. Perhaps because I knew that for him it really was his heart. "I detect a slight southern drawl in there as well. Not born in the KC though, huh?"

Did I expect any less? Of course he could hear my accent. He was _America_ , after all. "Born and raised in Nashville."

He chuckled, "That explains it. I was born in Delaware myself!" Alfred shot Arthur a quick look over my shoulder, though I couldn't quite interpret what that look was. "Keep close to the D.C. area most of the time though they did send me out to a few various bases once or twice." He sat back and grinned, "Well, nice to meet you, Michelle."

"Likewise," I nodded. As odd as it was, regarding this man as the personification of an entire nation…

It was difficult to see. Part of me could sense it, but that was likely because I was already aware of the power hidden behind his carefree demeanor.

My gaze swiveled to Britain. Thinking that no one was watching, he had allowed himself to cradle his midsection and a look of pain was clearly written across his face. Remembering the time period I had been transported to _again_ , I couldn't imagine the amount of pain he was in at that moment. And it was only going to get worse. "Mr. Kirkland," he turned at the sound of my voice, "are you alright?"

His eyes were clouded over with weariness, but there was a spark in them that promised a fight with whoever it took. "I am quite well. Thank you for your concern." Pressing his lips together, he considered me for a moment. "Well, Miss Daniels, you need to remain in bed and rest. I will come back this evening to check on you. Is there anything you might need?" Certainly nothing that he could help with or supply. My head shook. "Very well. If that is all…" He all but fled the infirmary room.

Beside the bed, Alfred sighed. "He's going through a tough time. Sorry if he was a jerk. Even without tough times, he's a jerk. I can't tell the difference!"

"No, it's fine," I murmured in response. "I can't imagine what it must be like."

He frowned and shook his head, "I never want to find out." Oh, but he knew. I could hear it in his voice. A slight edge of pain. Slapping his knees, the young man rose to his feet. He stood at an impressive height, but that was probably because I was confined to a bed. "I'll be back around dinner time. Britain's food really ain't as bad as most people tend to think. And you're already bedridden anyway, so it won't matter! HAHAHA!"

Well, that last bit didn't bode well at all.

If I didn't know already, I wouldn't have noticed his slip. He had called Arthur 'Britain,' which I suspected was a mistake on his part. He didn't notice it at all.

"You'll be safe here, so just try to rest up, 'kay?"

"Thank you," I responded. He gave a quick smile and left, most likely to track down the ailing Brit.

Left on my own, I sank back down into the pillows.

The only word on my mind?

_Impossible._


	3. Reality

_This is no war of chieftains or of princes, of dynasties or national ambition; it is a war of peoples and of causes. –_ Winston Churchill, 1940

This couldn't be possible. No matter how I tried to rationalize it, I could never get past that initial thought. One couldn't simply travel to other realities (that is what I decided to call this place, an alternate reality).

If one considers the concept of a parallel universe, it could make some amount of sense. Albeit in a crazy way. If one considered my reality as the prime reality, then all other universes would be derivatives of my home. That could make sense in the context of the Hetalia-verse. It was a world that possessed personified nations. That would be the key difference. It didn't seem like any other bits of history had been changed, just that one added factor.

Still, it couldn't be real.

Even if one accepted the idea of parallel universe theory, then you would encounter the problem of Hetalia being a fictional work.

 _Fiction._ As in: not real.

Still, even fiction could be real in some capacity _somewhere_ , right?

My head was hurting. I had been pouring over my theories for hours and I was making no progress beyond the repetitive thoughts of: this can't be possible, this can't be real.

In the stillness of the infirmary, I couldn't seem to calm down. My heart would speed up randomly, at thoughts that I couldn't control.

Such as: would I ever get home?

Was I stuck here forever?

My mind always recoiled at the thought. I couldn't be. Logically, this couldn't be happening. I had to be dreaming. Grading all of those papers put me to sleep. Of course I would make it home again. Of course I would see my family. Of course I would see my friends.

A dream.

That had to be it. A—A very, very (frighteningly so) realistic dream.

I continued to stare at the ceiling, dread washing over me like a rogue wave over a shallow inland. I was inundated by it, raw panic. Unadulterated fear.

Even if I moved past the idea of being in a completely different world from my own, I had been dropped into one of the worst times in all of history. Despite the funny twists that Hetalia put on the events, the time wasn't any less terrifying and I had a feeling that this live-action Hetalia-verse wasn't going to skim over the terrible parts for the humor.

What was worse still, I knew everything that was going to happen.

With the Fall of France, so, too, fell Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg. Italy would soon invade Egypt. Not long after, Germany would start their siege on Russia.

During all of this, America would delve out supplies to the Allies, but would maintain some amount of neutrality. That would become less and less the case as assets were seized, consulates closed, and shipping routes blocked. China was currently battling Japan in the Pacific following Japan's invasion.

Mass hysteria in all directions and the gun powder hadn't even been lit yet.

There was so much happening during the Second World War that it seemed impossible to remember it all.

If my knowledge got out…

A shiver ran down my spine.

No, that wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen.

As a doctoral student, my work had been based in the rhetoric of the war: the words spoken by both sides and the effects that those words had on the morale of the countries. This should have been exciting in some capacity. I would witness speeches and propaganda in real time.

It was terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.

I had seen the results of the war. I had seen the terrible actions of Germany, Russia, Japan, and even Italy. Hell, I knew my own nation and his allies weren't perfect. Horrific things, the stuff of nightmares, came from World War II. As hilarious as some of the situations were, there was still the darkness that lurked behind the veil of humor.

_Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump._

What was I supposed to do? It couldn't be a dream, right?

The map had brought me here. I knew that much (you know, assuming that this was all real). It had glowed a bright green from the tear. My eyes closed again.

Honestly, the "transported to another world" motif had been employed _for ages_ in literature. It was one of the oldest stories in the book (or rather, a lot of books). I always thought that the tales were trips of fantasy, dreams that brought people (namely the authors) to some sort of adventure that could never actually happen within their own lives.

Nine times out of ten, other-world literature points to a certain amount of personal choice on the part of the main character.

 _Walk through the wardrobe, put on the ring, make the wish, strike the deal, follow the rabbit…_ The list goes on.

There's always some sort of _action_ that leads to the _reaction_ of the old world-switcheroo.

I had torn the map with the heel of my shoe.

It was because of that carelessness that I ended up in the predicament in the first place.

If I had just been more careful…

How was I going to get back then? Find the map? Even then, would it take me back to where I belonged or would it send me to an even worse place? Would it send me anywhere at all?

Tears came unbidden to my eyes. I couldn't stay here. I had to find a way back home. What was I going to do about my family, about my job, my friends? As the tears fell from my eyes, I wiped them away with my palms, bargaining with whatever force brought me here.

If I could go home, I would never curve my students' grades again.

I'd never hate them for ignoring me. I'd never think of quitting again.

I'd stand up for myself…

If I could go home, I'd not skip Thanksgiving to stay away from the crazy side of my family.

I'd be a better person. I'd stop lying so much and I'd look at the glass half-full.

Oh, and the glass wouldn't have any liquor in it. Most of the time.

If I could go home, I'd _do_ something with my life.

Nothing was happening. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and narrowed my eyes at the white ceiling. Anger boiled in my chest then.

What did I do to arrive here?

Here of all places?

Why _this_ fandom?

Why this point in history?

Why me?

I mean, I was a closet Hetalia fan. Sure, I made the occasional references in public, but it was more a relic of my undergrad. I wasn't obsessed (anymore). The show was interesting because of my deep-seated love of history. If I wasn't in love with history, why would I have my Ph.D. in the damn subject? Of course the show caught my interest! History buff + anime fan = Hetalia fan. I wasn't a math person, but I could figure that one out.

Clenching my teeth, I growled under my breath. "Damn it." Rage started to bubble in my gut, overtaking the denial and the fear. "Is this my fault? Did I do something to wind up here? Did I punch an infant? Did I cross a black cat's path? What did I do?!" I don't know what I had been expecting. An answer? Some confirmation of my wrongdoing? "Did my students curse me here for failing most of their midterms?"

No reply.

My patience was growing thin. God, Fate, whoever-the-hell-dropped-me-here…I was talking to them. Rather heatedly, "I don't want to be here! I don't know what you want me to do, but I won't do it! I refuse! DAMN IT! HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?" Breathing heavily, I let my head fall back onto the pillow.

My family. My sister, Donna, was going to have her baby soon. I was supposed to be there for my sister. It was her first, my first nephew. And I was going to miss it. She'd hate me forever.

What about my brother, Corey? What if something happened in Iraq while I was stuck in this past-alternate universe?

Tears came to my eyes again and I turned my face to the left, trying to hide in case someone came into the infirmary.

What about my friends? Alicia would be worried sick. She'd freak out. Eddie would never get the chance to ask me on that date he always rambled about. Lydia would never get to pay back the money she owed me.

"Mom," I murmured. Twenty-four years old and my mother was still my best friend. She would be torn apart if I never made it home. What if she got remarried? What if she couldn't eat anymore—like when Daddy died? What if—What if—What if— The tears continued to flow.

I was stronger than this.

Much stronger.

So, so much stronger.

"I brought you some dinner I thought you might— _Woah!_ " Quaking under the sheet with my sobs, I curled further into myself and hid my face in the pillow. No way would I allow my country to see me weak. No way in hell. "You okay? Oh man! You know, they keep saying that I don't know how to read the 'atmosphere,'—whatever that means— but I think this is pretty cut-and-dry."

Leave it to America to mix the metaphors.

"Why're you cryin'? Don't cry. Man, I don't know what to _do_ when women cry. Hell, the only one who does—" He cut himself off.

That caught my attention.

France. He would know how to make a woman stop crying. It was impossible though since France had been taken by Germany and Italy. This realization seemed to break the crying spell that had fallen over me. I sobered, pulling my hands over my face. "Don't tell anyone…please." I couldn't cry like this, not in front of him.

Not when he was dealing with so much more than me.

America scoffed, "What? Tell anyone that you were crying? I won't tell anyone. And I don't go back on my word—'CAUSE I'M THE HERO!"

Jerking at the sudden declaration, I removed my hands and looked toward where the man was posing. A plate of food was held above his head and the setting sun in the window provided some dramatic lighting. I snorted a laugh. "You don't _look_ like Superman."

He froze and looked over at me, "You…know…comic…books?"

"I'm a Captain America fan myself," I shrugged. It was the truth and the truly joyful expression on Alfred's face was worth every bit of truth I could give. There was something else there, too, but I couldn't quite catch it before the light in his eyes disappeared. Despite the fact that I was in a horrible situation, seeing my nation smile was priceless. "Let me guess…You really _are_ a Superman fan?"

The slack-jawed embodiment took a step forward and cried dramatically, "I love all superheroes! You name 'em, I love 'em."

"Flash?"

He beamed, "Love."

"Captain Marvel?"

"Love."

"Captain America?"

"Love," he grinned. America fell into the chair beside my bed, handing over the plate of food. "Yeah, am now and will _always_ be a fan of the comics. Truest American literature, right there." Debatable, but I let it go. "So, you got a concussion when you hit the floor. At the angle that you hit, you're lucky that you didn't break your neck."

His comment startled me and I placed a 'chip' back on the plate. "What happened, exactly? Where did you find me?"

The way he shifted had me uneasy. And I really couldn't say how, but I could sense that he had something he wanted to say. Although he was quite brilliant at hiding behind his mask, it didn't hold so strong when worn in front of his own citizen. An interesting fact. "We found you in the annex, actually. It was super strange. One minute, the room was, like, super empty and the next, you were there. Pretty interesting, huh?"

I shifted, turning to watch his expression. He already knew something and was just playing ignorant. Heaving a breath, I braced for the worst. "What are you hinting at?"

He grinned, leaning back to fold his hands behind his head. "Straight-forward. I like that. You're definitely one of mine." Alfred grinned even wider. He _really_ wasn't as cautious with his words, was he? "You're one of mine, alright, but then why did that map spit you out like a wad of tobacco?" Wonderful image there, America. "A bright green light and some woman comes tumbling out of a map? Sounds pretty weird to me."

This coming from someone who is: a) immortal and b) friends with an alien.

Nevermind being fictional.

Uncertainty did well up in my chest though. I knew I could trust America. I mean, it was _America_. He personified my home. That being said, soon enough he would be desperate enough to use whatever information I possessed to beat the "holy hell" out of the Axis, to quote the anime.

While it was true that many lives could be spared with my knowledge, the future would change.

Was it better to fight the demons you know or to battle new ones, unknown?

"I'm not an enemy," I clarified first.

America snorted, shaking his head, "Didn't think so. I've got a sense about these things." Bullshit, I called. There was still some doubt hidden in his features. So well-hidden that most would not be able to see it. I could. Any other American would be able to see it, too. We wore that look often in my time. An edgy smile, cautious of the world. Especially in airports. "Keep talkin'."

"So, I was grading papers—"

"Grading papers?"

"I'm a teacher," I supplied. "I was grading papers when, as I was leaving, I ripped a map that my students had given me. I was transported here. At least, that's as much as I've gotten out of all of this."

He nodded as if this were all making sense. "So, your clothes?"

I gasped to myself. I had forgotten about my clothes! They were extremely modern. No woman would wear pants like that in the forties. Certainly not those pumps. My attire was not at all forties-appropriate. Lord, help me… How do I explain this one? How could I get out of this?

"Stop playing with her, Alfred. From the future or not, she still has a concussion."

My breathing stopped and I turned to the newly-arrived British gentleman. He stepped inside, coming to stand at the end of my bed. Arthur was an imposing figure like that: with his arms crossed and his feet shoulder-length apart.

What was more intimidating was the fact that…

He knew.

They knew.

_Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump. Th-bump._

My heart was thundering in my ears. "Wh-What?"

His green eyes rolled, "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about." Seeing that I wasn't in the condition to reply, he continued. "Our map spits out a woman looking like she's from the future. She accidentally makes references to certain things that have yet to be published. We're not complete fools, Miss Daniels." He gave Alfred a surreptitious glance. "Well, for the most part."

"When did I do that?" I interrupted before America could retort.

"Captain America," Alfred smiled comfortingly. That darkness and doubt that was there before seemed to dissipate before my very eyes. "It won't come out for another few months. I've been keepin' in touch with the author 'cause he's basing a few things on me…because I'm such a freakin' awesome HERO!"

The author of Captain America was basing some things on America himself?

What…the _hell_?

Britain's sharp eyes were focused on my face, looking for any indication of my ill intent. Of course he was on edge—There was no telling what pain he was enduring. Furthermore, the British government was particularly fearful of German spies during WWII. It was possible that he was viewing me as such, as a threat. Panic swept through my chest.

This was going to hell faster than I could have imagined.

"So…" I muttered, "Stupid mistakes."

"Yes," Britain nodded with a frown. "Stupid mistakes."

Perhaps bluntness would be the best course of action in this case. "I didn't want to end up here. It was an accident."

Britain shot a glare at America, obviously trying to keep the Nation silent. It didn't work. "So, from what you were saying— Stop glaring like that, Britain! You'll get wrinkles like an old man, old man! —you stepped on a map and it sent you here? Anything else you remember? What year are you from exactly? I know you're definitely not lying about being American, but is there anything else here that might help us get you back?"

Britain scoffed, "I'm supposed to be the one interrogating here! It's my house!"

"Deal with it," Alfred retorted. His attention fell to me, expecting an answer.

My words were carefully chosen. Despite the fact that they knew I was from the future, I couldn't let them know that I was aware of their identities. If they found something like that out, there was no telling how they would react.

Besides, America had mentioned something about helping me get home. The less they knew, the better. "Um, I'm from the year 2015." Their jaws dropped. "I ripped the map with my heel. There was…There was a bright green light. It came from the tear."

Arthur perked up, turning his head in my direction rather than America's. "A green light, you say? What sort of green light?"

"A sort of…m-mint green," I tried to reply evenly.

Alarms sounded in my head.

Mint green.

Flying Green Mint Bunny.

My hands clenched the sheets as I stared at the personified nation. He didn't _seem_ to put the two together, but _I_ did. There was no way there could be such a coincidence.

"Yeah," I nodded, "it was definitely a _mint green_ light."

I was aware enough to notice the slightest widening of Britain's _green_ eyes.

Yes, he realized. He didn't acknowledge that fact at all. The fact that he was the one who somehow brought me here, that is. Instead, he glanced toward the window. The hell… "Well, isn't that interesting?" My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. "Yes, very interesting."

"WOAH," America breathed loudly. "The year 2015, huh? That's wild. I'm guessing that I'm—I mean that the United States is still around then, right? I mean, you said you come from Kansas City." He gave a nervous laugh and scratched his cheek.

This was a roundabout way of asking how the war ended. Still, I couldn't lie. "Yeah, America is still around. Stronger than ever, despite a few problems here and there."

"Stronger than ever," Alfred hummed. His eyes shot to the other blond in the room. "You hear that, Iggy? The best Nation in the world is still around seventy-five years from now!" He shifted in his chair and looked at me with a hint of desperation in his blue eyes. I took a deep breath. "What about Britain? Is Britain still around?"

How could I respond? I couldn't say 'yes' or he might get complacent. Then again, if he had the confidence to continue…this was all so confusing. Saying 'no' was out of the question. Would things be different if I answered these questions? Maybe, maybe not.

"Yes," I answered. It was against my better judgment, but I couldn't bring myself to remain silent on that one bit of information.

No more. I wouldn't answer any more questions about the present or the future. If I did and the future changed, many would suffer. If my actions caused the timeline to change…

Germany _could_ win the war.

I couldn't allow that to happen.

Britain spun on his heel and rapidly approached the bed, leaning over in a rather threatening manner. I sucked in a breath and pulled myself back into the pillows. "Truly? Am—Is my country around in your time?" He was so flustered that he allowed himself to slip. If I hadn't known what to look for, I wouldn't have noticed the flash of panic in his eyes.

"Yes, it is."

"In what capacity?"

My brows rose, "What do you mean?"

Arthur growled, "In what capacity does Britain still exist? As a sovereign nation or as the member of a confederation?"

What was I to say to something like that?

By all technicalities, the United Kingdom was, even in 2015, a confederation of various political states under the same crown. That being said, it wasn't in the light he was thinking. Germany had never taken Britain. Did I tell him as much? A hand raised my aching head. This was all so much to process.

Time was a heavy thing to carry, I realized.

One misspoken word and I could change the future for better or… for worse.

Did it matter at all since this wasn't actually my world to begin with?

"Iggy, give her some space, man." Alfred warned from his seat.

"No! She must answer my question!" Arthur argued, taking my wrist roughly. I flinched at the sudden contact and turned my wide eyes to the angered Brit. My teeth gritted, but I didn't cry out from the pain. He was _strong_.

Panic made me try to wrench my wrist away, but his grip remained firm.

"You must answer me!"

In the next second, his grasp on my arm was broken. Standing over me to my right was America and his generally pleasant and energetic aura had vanished. "Arthur, lay off. Now."

Of course it mattered! It mattered in this world just as much as it would in my own world. The people in this world deserved a chance just as much as the people in my own world. Because of this, I had to be careful. I had to keep things the same. And that meant…

"Tell me what you remember of this war," Arthur ordered. There was a frantic light in his eyes, reminding me of the green that had brought me here. Had it really been Britain in the first place? No, he couldn't have brought me to this place, right? Of course, why did I land in Britain of all places? This was all so confusing. "You must remember something! This war is one of the biggest in history. Surely they must teach something of it in your time."

"Something of it," I agreed, "but I can't."

"You _what_?"

Getting sick of him towering over me like that, I sat forward and straightened my back. He recoiled at my close proximity, placing his hands on his hips. "I said that I can't tell you."

If I wanted to stand my ground, I had to put on a confidence I didn't really have. I couldn't even stand up to my students.

Now I was trying to stand up to a Nation.

What was I thinking?

"You must! You must tell me what you can remember! Surely there must be something useful, something that can stop them!" When I didn't respond, he narrowed his eyes. "How dare you! How can you sit by while innocent people are being slaughtered?"

"Arthur!"

"Shut it, America!"

Head beginning to ache even more, I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes at the Englishman. "Listen, I don't like the idea either. Honestly, I would love to tell you everything I know, but…This is for the best. I would never do anything to endanger the wellbeing of the world."

"So, you're just allowing innocents to suffer for what? For the greater good?" He had a point. I could try to stop some of the terrible atrocities. "Do you know what _he's_ doing? How many people he has killed? You won't tell us a damn thing to stop it?"

Were we talking about Germany or Hitler?

"If I do and something goes wrong, then terrible things will happen." My declaration was strong and defensive as I held his steely gaze. "Consider the possibilities here. If I tell you something and an aspect of history changes, then the whole future could change. Someone could not be born, who should have been. Someone could be killed. One side could win while the other loses. I'm keeping my mouth shut because I don't want the future to change."

"Isn't that bloody selfish of you?"

Yes, it was.

Alfred was behind Britain now, looking uncertain. "Dude, calm down!"

There was a moment when I doubted myself. All of the things I could change: the terrible things in the Holocaust, the attack at Pearl Harbor, all of the lives lost on the eastern front. Bile rose in my throat. Would all of those lives rest on me?

The war was already in full-swing. Nothing I told them would be of any help at this time and…things never go as planned. Adapt and overcome. WWII had been the war that changed everything. If it ended differently, many more would suffer. Many, many more.

If I had to feel guilty for the rest of my life, then so be it. I just prayed I was making the right decision.

"I know that you must hate me, Mr. Kirkland, but I will not speak of it. Suffice to say that—someday—things will right themselves."

"You could right them now!" Yelping, I pulled myself back when he took a rough swing at me. Fury was evident in his crazed eyes. Fear tore through my chest.

Just before the blow could land, the hero grabbed the fist in midair. The smack of skin on skin made me jump. That strike had to hurt, but America didn't flinch.

"Go," Alfred spoke softly. "You need to go, Arthur. Now."

"In my own house—"

"We'll talk about it in a few minutes. Just go and cool off."

Hissing out a string of incomprehensible curse words, Arthur turned on his heel and strode to the door. Just before he left, he stopped and glared over his shoulder at me.

"Their blood is on your hands."

With that, he disappeared.

The weight of everything seemed to crash upon me the instant he was out of sight. Everything seemed to crumble, including the strong persona I had put forward. Tears sprung into my eyes and I hid my face in my hands. I took desperate breathes, trying to keep calm.

It wasn't working.

A hand fell onto my shoulder and this made me cry even harder. There was so much he was about to go through, so many terrible things. He shouldn't have been comforting me, a selfish stranger. "You're doing this to _protect_ , right? To protect what's good?"

Was I? I just didn't want to run the risk of losing to the Axis forces.

"In the end, good wins, right? Good always wins." He was assigning such basic names as good and bad in this situation? "That's all I need to hear from you and I will never ask again."

My head rose and I caught his sturdy blue gaze, "Good wins."

"Because of that, you don't want to risk changing the future. Can you explain that to me?"

Through my tears, I tried to put it in terms that he could understand. "Time travel isn't possible, even—even seventy-something years from now." He nodded, giving a consoling smile. "There are theories though. One is called the 'Butterfly Effect.' It…guesses…that even if one butterfly is killed at a certain moment in time…It will cause a massive change elsewhere in the world or the timeline." Trying to think of a way to continue explaining, I tried to put it into a simpler context. "If one battle changes, the end of the war could change—for the worst."

America was quiet for a few minutes, clearly trying to wrap his head around this kind of idea. Finally, he settled with, "Um, that sounds like some complicated shit."

I nodded, "Complicated shit."

"You said that I—that America still existed, right?" I nodded again. "Well, then we _must've_ won. I mean, true we're staying out of the war right now, but…We're still trying to help out where we can. Just trying not to piss the Krauts off ourselves. Really, it isn't our business." It wasn't necessarily the 'Krauts' that he needed to look out for. I really wanted to tell him that. "Don't tell me anything. I can see it in your eyes. Heroes don't need information like that to beat the shit out of anybody."

He smiled slightly, though it looked a bit forced. I didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you for taking Mr. Kirkland's hit."

"No prob. Iggy hits like a chick anyway."

As he let out a raucous laugh, I vaguely wondered if anachronisms were commonplace in this world. No man in the forties would have used the term 'chick.'

"I should probably go check on him. He might be cursing you or bewitching you or something with whatever—" he shrugged, "I'll work on finding you a way home. Until then, sit tight. If Iggy doesn't buck up, then we'll have another doctor come take a look at you."

Doctor? So, Britain was a doctor. I shouldn't have been surprised. After living for centuries, there was no telling how many degrees these personifications had. Many. Perhaps hundreds. "Alright," I choked out.

America stopped at the door, turning to turn off the light. "You should rest. You've had a long day."

My head nodded and then I was alone once more. Thoughts echoed about my mind, creating pain around my eyes. I closed them.

This wasn't going to get any easier.

With Arthur hating me for my silence, there was no chance that he would willingly send me home. And I was certain that it was somehow his magic that had brought me here in the first place. It was likely unintentional, but the green light I had seen did match with the green light of his magic. His response to the mention of it was incriminating enough.

However, it didn't make logical sense to send away a valuable source of information.

Despite Britain's reputation as a gentleman, he was desperate. There was no telling what he would do to get me to speak.

It wasn't the pain of torture that I was truly afraid of at that moment (though it did loom in the back of my mind.)

No, it was my own weakness that worried me. I wouldn't hold up against torture of any kind. I wasn't strong enough.

If my will did crumble, then the whole world might crumble as well under the weight of the Axis' might.

With this in my thoughts, I fell into a fitful sleep.


	4. Return

_  
Therefore, in casting up this dread balancesheet and contemplating our dangers with a disillusioned eye, I see great reason for intense vigilance and exertion, but none whatever for panic or despair. –_ Winston Churchill, 1940

When I turned twenty-one, I taught my first class. I had been a graduate student at that time, hardly prepared to teach anyone—much less a classroom full of disinterested freshmen. It didn't help that I was a fair bit younger than the other GTAs. It only served to damage my ethos, or credibility, with the students. They often saw me as one of their own rather than the classroom authority. And that really didn't change much even three years later.

The class itself was World History 101, a required course. I could remember standing at the front, not exactly knowing what to do. There was no computer, no whiteboard, just some small bits of multicolored chalk.

And me.

Nervous, mousy me.

I remember how those students stared up at me with an equal amount of nervousness, mirroring my uncertainty.

Alex was sitting by the window, lethargic gaze staring out at the world. His treatments were at their worst stage and his hair was thinner than ever. Lacy was giggling with her pal, Amanda, in the corner. They died in a car crash the following semester. Cole was texting—though it was with his mother as his father had been in ICU since August. Trevor was drumming on his desk. He would go one to become a world-famous DJ only two years later. Kenton was drafted into the NBA after his freshman year.

I could remember every face and every name.

I _wanted_ to remember them, my first students.

"Miss Daniels," someone called. Natasha, I realized. "Could you tell us how World War II ended?"

It seemed like an abrupt question, but I took it in stride. They would sometimes ask the most abitrary questions in class, from the Faulkland Islands War to the Joseon Dynasty in Korea.

"The United States and his allies defeated Japan," I answered simply. "Germany, Italy, and the Axis powers also fell to the Allies. We'll be getting to the World Wars toward the end of the semester."

"Uh no," Jordan spoke up. He sounded confused. "That's not…how it ended, right? I mean, if that were the case, why is the flag outside red and black?"

Panic filtered through my chest, mixing with my confusion. I rushed to the window and drew the blinds up enough to allow sunlight to filter through. I then looked out upon the front lawn of the university's central field. There, in the center, stood a flag pole. Upon it flew a bright red flag with a certain symbol emblazoned on both sides.

No. This couldn't be right.

Fearful, I turned back to the class.

Half of them were gone, disappeared. Only a few remained.

"Where did everyone go?" I whispered to myself, voice rough.

It was Natasha who answered, sounding sorrowful. "They…didn't make it." She gestured down to the floor. My eyes trailed down with the movement and I screamed, taking a few rapid steps away.

Blood. So much blood. Splashed everywhere. On the linoleum tiles, on the book bags, on the desks.

My hand rose to cover my mouth, but it stopped just before reaching my face. I stared at it with wide eyes. No, please. No. Don't let this be happening. It couldn't be happening. Not to me. Rattling breaths made me quake.

My hand. It was soaked red.

I lifted my other hand to see that it was coated as well.

"No…" I shook my head in denial. "No, please…Please, no."

"No," I whimpered. My knees gave way and I fell forward. The blood splashed under my hands as they struck the floor. "No, no, no. I didn't—Please, I didn't—No! Oh God, no!"

_Michelle…_

"The Allies fell," Natasha stated. The sorrow was gone. Her voice sounded as if it were growing deeper with each word spoken. "They fell and _they_ will _always fall_." Fearful of that change, I looked up to see a pair of steely blue eyes staring down at me from a great height. His blond hair was slicked back.

Panicking, I pushed myself backward until I hit the wall underneath the blackboard. I pulled myself as far away as I could from the towering power that was stalking toward me.

" _They_ will _fall. Their blood is on your hands, Dr. Daniels._ "

_Michelle!_

All at once, I was awake. My breaths came in quick gasps as I glanced from left to right. He was nowhere to be seen, that blue-eyed devil. There was no blood, no students, no classroom. I was once again in the British infirmary, resting in an old-time bed. Above me, America's face hovered. His sky eyes were alight with worry. Letting out a relieved sigh, I sank down into my pillows.

A nightmare. Thank God. It was just a nightmare.

"Dude, are you alright? The hell was that? I came in and you were all like," he threw his hands up in the air and waved them frantically, "and I was all tryin'-to-wake-you-up! I mean, I was able to pull it off 'cause I'M THE HERO and all, but still…What the hell happened?"

"A nightmare," I sighed.

"A nightmare, huh?" He plopped himself down on the edge of the bed, clearly not caring about personal space. What an American thing to do. I wasn't at all uncomfortable with his closeness, perhaps due to my sister's proclivity for hugging and snuggling. Instead, I simply shifted over to allow him more space. "Wanna talk about it? I know that when I have nightmares, I like to talk about 'em. Not that I have that many, 'cause you know— _ehem_ , I'M THE HERO!—but, um, when I do have nightmares…They're rough."

What would Nations have nightmares about? I could only imagine (and frankly, I didn't want to). The things that the Nations must've witnessed throughout their lives…My head shook. By comparison, my nightmare wasn't anything. It was a mere trifle showcasing how cowardly I really was.

"Like this one time," Alfred let out a shaky laugh. "I dreamt that I was, like, super hungry. Like totally starvin', right? Yeah, so in the dream I went out to get a burger—well, more like twenty or…maybe it was forty—as a snack, you know—and all of the food places were _closed_. It freakin' sucked! I had to walk around hungry the whole damn day." He heaved a dramatic breath and his shoulders hunched, "All I had to eat was some soup. _SOUP!_ (1) So unsatisfying! I'll never eat that stuff again! Not only that! I had to stand in line for _hours!_ "

Brows pulling together, I thought about his nightmare. Soup and lines. The only logical connection was the Great Depression. Frowning, I looked him over and noticed that there was a note of complete honesty (and weariness) in his expression. He was telling the truth, not trying to be dramatic about his love for burgers. He truly had nightmares about soup and, if I guessed right, about starvation.

How many Nations hid behind masks?

It was a thought for another day.

I forced a snorted laugh, "N-No burgers?"

"My ultimate nightmare," he nodded solemnly, "like for real."

Somehow, I had a hard time doubting him. The tension I felt from the nightmare was fading and I was able to relax a little bit. It was best to indulge him. Leaning back, I gave a thoughtful hum, "Life without barbeque…"

"Your favorite food is barbeque?"

"Kansas City," I reminded him. He nodded appreciatively, grinning. "Furthermore, Tennessee." He nodded even more energetically. "Not much into the vinegar versus tomato debate, honestly. All barbeque is good barbeque."

"Vinegar versus tomato debate? A future thing?"

Smiling at the curiosity in his voice, I explained. "There are two methods of making barbeque sauces. In my time, it's divided into vinegar-based sauces against tomato-based sauces."

America giggled, "I love arguing about food. Tell me more."

Frankly, I was just relieved to be asked about something that didn't have to do with the war. In all honesty, I think Alfred was as well. Like escapism, focusing on something different so that the tough aspects of life could be ignored. In this case, food. "We're always arguing about if we have our own cuisine or if we just stole everyone else's. Considering we're called the 'Melting Pot of the World,' I'd say that almost all of our food is derivative of someone else's."

"Deriva—wha?"

Used to such questions from my students, I grinned. "It means 'coming from,' so that means that all of our food 'comes from' somewhere else."

"No it doesn't! I totally have—I mean _, Americans_ totally have original food! We made ice cream! No other Nation can claim that!"

"Persia," I replied. America looked at me, dumbfounded. "Well, China invented the first device for making ice cream. Everyone has their own version of it though. America or Britain was the first to _write down_ the recipes and America was the first to really embrace ice cream as a national food." Uncertain, I glanced down to my hands. A flash of the blood-covered ones from my nightmares made me look back to the Nation again. Catching his stunned expression, I realized that I had preached history to _history_ personified. "I mean…That's—that's just what I've heard."

He laughed loudly at my nervousness, "HAHAHA! You always so confident, Shelly?"

A nickname? _Really?_

"A-Always, sometimes I even strut around with a lot of feathers in my hat."

We laughed for a few moments before his expression turned serious. I sobered just as quickly, glancing to the doorway.

There he stood in all of his Anglo-glory. He didn't appear the slightest bit amused by anything he had witnessed. In all honesty, he looked even angrier than before. I couldn't hold his gaze and instead dropped my stare to his boots. He strode inside and came to stand at the edge of my bed. "Oh, so you can laugh, but you can't give me any information to stop this bloody war?"

"Dude, Britain, chill out."

"Shut it, you git!"

It was a wonder that no one had noticed these two with the way that they referred to each other. Furthermore, it was a further wonder that America hadn't been found out already with the way he kept forgetting to use 'human' names.

Maybe he really was as…oblivious…as some Nations thought him to be.

Something—a strong hand—wrapped around my wrist and hauled me out of the bed.

Cool air smacked against my bare legs as I was forcefully pulled to my feet. I realized then that I had nothing on but a white hospital gown. In the process of being yanked out of the room, I was able to grab hold of the navy blue knit blanket to drag along with me. No _way_ was I going to be thus dressed in front of Britain and America.

I could at least maintain some of my dignity.

"Dude, are you insane? She's injured! You said so yourself! What do you plan on doing? Hey, let her go! Britain! What the hell, man?" America was running after us, shouting at the top of his lungs.

Arthur was muttering things under his breath. "Stupid. Absolutely stupid. Laughing while…" He growled and wrenched a large wooden door open.

Inside, everything was dark save for a few candles here and there. He released my wrist and strode to the center of the room, glancing down at the various circles and symbols on the floor. I looked on with wide eyes. Just…what was he planning to do? My gaze travelled to an object at the center of what looked to be something close to a transmutation circle.

A transmutation circle? For a moment, I couldn't help but worry that Britain was going to somehow transport me into _Full Metal Alchemist._ Nerves wracked my stomach. I couldn't go into that fandom. I didn't know jack about that fandom!

That would be ridiculous though.

He was going to transport me home. I could go home.

If the map at the middle of the circle was anything to go by, that is.

America loped into the room and gasped, "Yo, Britain! I'm not gonna let you torture one of my citizens! She's a civilian. In the wrong time or not—that doesn't matter because I'm the hero and I can't allow even one American to be treated bad by your—" He stopped abruptly and his eyes widened. "So, uh, whatcha doin'?"

Britain didn't acknowledge his question, but instead spoke directly to me. "If you're going to be useless, then I will send you back from whence you came. I knew it was a bad idea in the first place! Blast it all—Why couldn't you just go along with it?"

" _You_ brought me here?" I caught a sharp look in his eyes, as if he were trying to understand a word puzzle. Then it struck me. I shouldn't know how he brought me here. I needed to act surprised that it was him. "H-How? That's impossible!"

"Well, I certainly didn't bring _you_ here. If I intentionally brought _you_ here, don't you think I would have brought someone more willing to help?" That stung no matter how true it was. My stance didn't waver as I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. "Yes, _do_ continue to stand there looking pathetic. I can see that you have truly suffered."

"Britain!"

"Stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname, wanker!" I could hear the edge in Arthur's tone. Beside me, Alfred shifted and let out an irritated rumble. "Truly, birds of a feather! She won't help and neither will you! That must have been the mistake, somehow the map ended up in _America_ 's lands. Bring in an American and nothing gets done!"

Alfred jerked as if he had been slapped.

That's when my patience snapped. This wasn't _my country's_ fault.

"Hey! You can throw a hissy fit all you want over _my_ decision not to slip future secrets to you, but _don't you_ _dare_ blame my country for it! You hear me?"

It wasn't even the fact that the personification of my nation was standing right next to me. I would have said the same thing if he hadn't been. No one takes shots at America without hearing my voice contesting it. Lack of confidence be damned. If there was one thing that could get my temper flared, it was attacking my home.

"Blaming an entire people for something that they are not at fault for is exactly what got the world into this mess in the first place, if you recall." It was my teacher-tone coming out, stern and upright. It was the way I spoke when I was trying to be as confident as possible. "The fault is _my own_ and their blood is on _my_ hands, but…I accept that. So, direct your fury at me— _Mr. Kirkland_ —and not at anyone else."

In my peripheral vision, I could see America stand a little straighter than before. His expression was a mix between disturbed and proud. Britain, however, looked absolutely baffled at my staunch defense. There was something appraising in his darken emerald eyes before he gestured roughly toward the center of the circle. "Stand just there. I'm sending you back. As soon as you return, destroy the map. I don't want anyone else coming through. Do _you_ hear _me?"_

Nodding, I turned to Alfred. "Thank you for helping to calm me down." Not waiting for permission, I gave him a quick hug. He returned the embrace with a loud laugh and a light-hearted shove, scratching the back of his head. "Everything will be alright," I assured. "You'll see. You just have to wait."

"Yeah, yeah. The hero's always alright in the end!" His voice was far too loud for that small cellar.

I turned, "You're going to use magic?"

"That's right," he nodded. He made a grand show of pulling on a dark cape. I would have rolled my eyes at the dramatics had I not been expecting it. "Not just any magic though. _Black_ magic."

"Clearly," I snorted, under my breath. "At this point, I'll accept anything." Nervous energy ran through my abdomen as I moved to stand over the map. I could see the tear below me. _My fault_ , rang through my head. "Will—Will it hurt?"

"Yes," the sorcerer Nation drawled. "Very much so…" He then smirked, "Do you have a problem with that, _Miss Daniels_?"

My head shook and I prepared myself for the worst. I wondered briefly if his spell would be as ridiculous as the one in the actual show.

His eyes rolled as he broke open an ancient-looking book. "Santo Rita Meeta Meta—" Yes, it was going to be _just_ as ridiculous as the anime. I tightened the blanket around my shoulders. "—Lennon, Marlin. Willy, Izzy, Thatcher, Rowling. Dumbledora the Explorer!" The corners of my mouth turned upward.

This was so absurd that it was actually amusing.

Even as I thought that, the runes under my feet began to glow a pale green.

He repeated the spell, voice growing louder with each word. "Santo Rita Meeta Meta, Rio Moss Lennon Marlin, Willy Izzy Thatcher Rowling—" His left hand was flung in my direction, "Dumbledora the Explorer!" The power was crawling up my legs like ivy, winding around until I couldn't move or breath. I stared with wide, scared eyes toward the concentrating Brit. He made no move, but his eyes did open. In a shout, he finished the spell. "I bid you back to whence you came! AWAY WITH YOU!"

Green overtook my vision for a few moments then everything went white.

How long I lingered in that overwhelming whiteness, I couldn't say.

Seconds, minutes, hours, days…

I was just there. Nothing existed around me. I just lingered like an afterthought or a half-forgotten memory. It was frightening and yet, somehow soothing. It was peaceful in that brilliant abyss. Nothing to worry about. I didn't have to fake confidence to get by. I didn't have to grade papers. I didn't have to worry about the fate of the world.

I just…was.

" _They say that some things will never change,"_ a voice stated.

Another voice spoke up, _"They say that if a butterfly flaps its wings in one part of the world…"_

" _It can cause a hurricane in another."_

" _Draw a circle, that's the Earth!"_

" _You cannot return by this path, young one."_

My eyes opened. I had not realized that they had been closed. Everything was still pure white, but there was a man standing before me. After a few long moments, I recognized him. Brown curly hair, ancient armor, a calm smile. "Rome," I said aloud. My hand rose to cover my mouth. How stupid of me!

He chuckled, _"I know_ you _know, sweet cheeks. It is no big deal."_

"What—How?"

" _Once you get to where I am,"_ he shrugged, _"you see a lot of really cool things—like other dead Nations that refuse to stop talking while I am talking—"_ He shot a look off toward his left. _"—and other lovely morsels. Some things I see are more graphic than others."_ I didn't want to know _what_ he was implying there. Though it probably had to do with sex, which seemed to be one of Rome's favorite past times. _"A few of us watched when you were sucked through that map. Pretty awesome, huh?_

" _Like a television show that never ends. We were keeping an eye on the massive clusterf—"_ he coughed to censor himself. " _Welllll, Germania wasn't really all that impressed with Britain's display of power, you know, bringing_ you _into this mess, but I could see a twinkle in his eye. I saw it. Yes, I most certainly did. It was a very_ pretty _sparkle, too~"_

"If you were watching, why didn't you do anything to stop him?" Looking at the personification of the passed-away nation, I regretted the question. He was completely transparent. "Oh, you can't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

" _For such a pretty woman: nice hair, beautiful eyes, voluptuous figure— you do not have enough confidence,"_ I blushed, not used to hearing such graphic details about my appearance. He didn't seem bothered at all. Go figure. It was Rome, after all. I shouldn't have been surprised. Best to just turn off the part of my brain that might take offense. _"You are_ smart _though. Very smart. Mother Greece was impressed. And she's a difficult woman to please. Let me tell you—"_ He jumped and looked to his right, as if someone had hit him. _"Ah, right sorry! I can get off-track, you know, and I only have a short time before I must go back. I was supposed to tell you that you cannot return to your world by this path."_

His statement struck me like a freight train. I couldn't respond.

" _Reversing this kind of thing, it is difficult. No one has ever crossed the divide between worlds as you have. Although it was Britain's magic that brought you into that world, it will not send you home. You can think of it as the road less travelled by, or a cosmic mistake. There is no path to walk because no one has travelled it before. Should you return to your world by this means, then you will end up in a completely foreign world and it will not be to your benefit. And I do not want to see such a pretty damsel get lost in the vastness of Realms."_

" _It would be foolish,"_ another voice spoke up. It was from the very air around me though I couldn't see the person it belonged to. I cringed, but didn't move. _"You cannot travel this path. The destination is a terrible one."_

"Worse than the middle of world war?"

" _Yes,"_ a man's deep voice answered.

" _We caught you before you could fully leave this reality,"_ Rome explained. _"If you had continued down that path, you would have ended up in a place that would have led to your ultimate demise. At least in this world, you have a chance. It was Athena's idea. With your knowledge, you can navigate this time period proficiently and you can survive. Perhaps you can save a few lives while you are at it."_

"Save lives?"

Rome smiled broadly and nodded, starting to disappear into the whiteness. He gave a goofy wave, pulled a lute from behind his back, and sang dramatically, _"It's up to you what you want to do, sweet lady~ You'll wake up in just a few, pretty lady~ And then, even you, it is true, sweet lady~ Won't know what to do, yeah, what to do, pretty lady~"_

" _STOP SINGING! DAMN IT!"_ the same deep voice from before shouted as a golden hue overtook the white. It flooded over me until I felt my breathing stop in my chest. I felt as if I were choking on the gold and, even as I tried to get more air, I grew more and more desperate.

The world felt separate from me, like I was at the bottom of a pool. My chest was beginning to hurt as I tried to breathe. Then, all at once, the bonds that held me to the bottom were released and I swam toward the light as quickly as I could. When I broke the surface, I took a deep breath.

"Shelly? Shelly? You alright?" A pair of blue eyes behind glasses soared frantically over me. There were hands on either side of my face. "Focus on me! Shelly, you need to breathe! Breathe, damn it!" I took another deep breath and shivered. The pain in my chest was terrible, constricting. Whoever he was, the man with the glasses and the worry, he looked off somewhere to the right. "Don't just stand there, Britain! Do something!"

"I—I—I don't—That should have worked!"

"Well, it didn't!" The man holding me retorted, "Now, she's in shock and she's not breathing right!"

"That—That doesn't make—That doesn't make any sense at all! Bloody hell, my magic has never malfunctioned like this!"

The world was blurred, making the man holding me seem like a distant figure. Why couldn't I see anything clearly? Why did everything hurt so much? My chest felt like it was on fire. Tears came to my eyes from the lack of oxygen, but I couldn't seem to figure out how to breathe. It was as if I had never been able to do so before. Whenever my eyes focused, I could see the desperate expression the man's face. I knew that face.

Where did I know— My muscles began to twitch.

"Breathe, breathe, breathe! Come on, Michelle! You have to breathe!" He seemed to notice my jerks and his frenzied shouting became even louder. "Britain, help! W-What's happening? She just started—"

"Lay her down flat, you fool!" A man with lighter blond hair came out of nowhere, grabbing me from the kind man's arms. Who— "She's having a seizure, not a fit of shock!" I felt a pain smart in my left hand and the same green-eyed blond-haired man turned to yell at the other person. "Move that box, damn it! We have to keep her away from any objects she could strike!"

A wave of cool air struck me and I was on my side. The chill of the stone floor was comforting. My muscles continued to constrict and release. I was the mercy of the seizure and I couldn't think of anything else except the coolness around me. I had been so warm before.

"She's still not breathin' good, man!" Someone said worriedly.

"C'mon, love; I need you to open your mouth." Fingers pressed each side of my lips and I couldn't seem to let my jaw open. The fingers then became stronger and my mouth opened. Something spilled (was that vomit?) and then, freedom. I could breathe once more and the seizing muscles softened. My mind reeled at that new feeling, relief flooded through me. Now, things were starting to make some sense. Even as my head continued to hurt terribly and my hand was aching with some sharp pain, I could think somewhat clearly.

"It's…It's over," one murmured.

"The hell was that?"

"A seizure. I'm not certain why it struck, but it would seem that my magic triggered it. Oh dear, she's injured her hand."

"Dude, that's a lot of blood! I'll go get some bandages. Yeah, some bandages and some ice and I have to help her 'cause I'm the hero! I'll be right back!" In the dimness of the magical cellar, I could see as America (yes, I could recognize him now) turned on his heel and ran for the stairs. "BANDAGES AND ICE! BANDAGES AND ICE! I'M THE HEROOO!" That declaration and the thump of his stomping feet rang throughout the entire house.

Beside me, the embodiment of Britain gave a long-suffering sigh. "Wanker…" His gaze shifted from the door and landed on my face. I stared up at him, not quite to the point of being able to speak. "Can you understand me?" I gave a weak nod. "I…It should have worked. Now, the map is gone. You…You could be stuck here forever." My eyes closed and reopened. No, he still looked ashamed. "You nearly died…because of me."

"N-No," I whispered.

"Yes, you did! I nearly killed you! This is all my fault! If I hadn't placed a spell on the map, then none of this would have happened!" He took my hand into his own. "I swear to you as a gentleman, Miss Daniels. Although I do not agree with your reasoning or your decision to remain silent, I will respect it. You will be well-protected. I promise you on my honor."

From the seriousness in his tone, I could tell that he was quite serious. Britain had given me his word that I would be protected, that he would respect my decision to keep the future secret.

Despite all of this, did I really trust him? Of the two nations, despite my belief that Britain would keep his word, America was the one I trusted most. It was because of my shared history with America being my homeland.

"You do not believe me," he looked dismayed.

My head shook, "That's…not it."

"Then what? I will keep you safe. I have given you my wor—"

"YO! THE HERO HAS RETURNED!"

So _this_ was what they meant about Alfred being unable to read the atmosphere.

He rushed up and pulled me from the floor, up into his arms. At any other time, I might have blushed a bit at the close contact. I wasn't used to being held bridal style, or in any other fashion. I just wasn't the type of woman that men swept off her feet. There was a moment when I wondered just _why_ he had grabbed me instead of putting on the bandages. "Couldn't find the bandages, so I'm carrying you up to the hospital wing thing instead!" Alfred let out an obnoxious laugh.

There was an edge to it though, hidden beneath the joviality. He was irritated about something.

"The bandages were in the cupboard!" Britain snarled behind us. I suspected he was trudging up the stairs only a few feet down. "They've always _been_ in the cupboard."

"What's a cupboard? Oh, that thing? It's called a 'cabinet!'" America responded with a jolly giggle. "Iggy is so easy to piss off," he shot a wink at me and continued walking. "Watch this! SO, Iggy—What is UP with your eyebrows today, man? They're lookin' bushier than normal."

An incomprehensible mixture of profanity and growls issued from the Brit unlike anything I had ever heard before. Then, "Listen here, you stupid blighter! You cannot just wander around my home questioning my eyebrows! It's indecent! It's bad manners! My bloody eyebrows are bloody well normal, you barmpot… tyke! I have half a mind to challenge you to a duel—"

"Well, if it were a duel of eyebrows, I'd lose. And I'm the hero. So…no thanks! Heroes are winners, not losers."

Smiling at his obnoxious antics, I glanced over his shoulder as we entered the infirmary room. Britain was practically burgundy from anger. He said nothing, but he did seethe as he stormed over to the cabinet at the other side of the room.

Gently, America lowered me onto the bed and pulled the sheet over my bare legs. "See? He's fun to rile up." His hand kept my left hand aloft, off of the pure white sheets. There was quite a bit of blood, but it seemed that the gash was already starting to clot.

It was a three-inch gouge, from the space between my thumb and forefinger to my wrist. Stitches would be required. No way would that flap of skin remain in the same place without some sewing. Biting my lower lip, I tried to think of something else.

"Can you speak now?"

"Y-Yeah," I cleared my throat. "Yeah."

"Yes," Britain corrected automatically.

"…Yes."

He pulled up a chair and settled a metal plate on the edge of the bed. "Let me see this," he muttered. "It's fairly deep." He began threading the surgical string through the eye of the needle. Meanwhile, he tried to distract me. "Do you know what might have caused that seizure, Miss Daniels?"

"I'm epileptic."

"That could do it," he sighed and rummaged through the kit he had brought over. "Bullocks, I don't have any anesthetic."

"Just…sew me up. Please." My teeth gritted together at the idea. "I'll be alright. Just...hurry."

America jumped to his feet, "Say whaaaat? You're going to just let him sew you up without anything to stop the pain? Are you crazy? That's gotta hurt! That's a needle and it's gonna poke through your skin. All sharp and— Ugh! Just thinking about it makes me—"

"I thought you were the _hero_." Britain's sarcastic smirk was a little daunting, like he was expecting America to fly into some sort of fit at the implication of his being anything less than Superman.

Instead, the Englishman didn't get what he was expecting.

Alfred sent the older Nation a deadpan look, "I _am_ the hero, but needles are effing scary as hell. (2)"

I snorted a laugh, earning a glare from the administering Nation. Sobering quickly, I turned my eyes away and waited for the pain. The needle went through my skin and I bit down on my lower lip. Britain glanced up to my face and shook his head, "No, don't bit your lip or your tongue." In a quick movement, he stuffed the edge of a pillow into my mouth. "Bite down on that. This will be over in a moment."

"So, I was thinking. Since she seems to be stuck in this world for a while now, she's a pretty big security risk…" America stated in a serious tone. I glanced over to where he was pacing. He was studiously keeping his eyes averted from the needle and my hand. "If those sons of bitches find out about her, there's no telling what they might do to get ahold of her knowledge."

A shiver ran down my spine. He was right and this was something that I had already considered before my almost-trip home.

Britain didn't respond, focusing entirely on sewing up my wound.

"I, like…. can't think of any other option than taking her back home. With me."

"What?" The Englishman paused, looking up at the fellow Nation. I glanced over as well, seeing America come to a stop.

"It makes sense, right? She's m—a citizen of the United States. There's no way I'm leaving her over here. You know as well as I do that things are about to go to hell in a handbasket." Alfred straightened his back and gave a stern stare. "She's not going to give you any information if you keep her locked up here."

"I wasn't intending to lock her—" He shoved the needle through my skin a little more roughly than I had expected, earning a yelp of pain from me. His emerald eyes went wide. "Sorry! Sorry! If Alfred would stop running his mouth, I might be able to concentrate better."

Although I knew this topic needed to be settled, surely it could wait a few minutes. I sent a pleading look toward the pacing Nation. America nodded, pressing his lips together in an effort to stay quiet. It must have been taking all of his self-control because he nearly opened his mouth several times. After a few moments, his eyes widened and he ran to the side of my bed, grabbing my free hand.

I didn't bother to hide my surprise.

After minutes later, Britain let out a sigh and sat back. Then, as gently as possible, he began to bandage the now-closed wound. "You'll need to get these removed in about a week or so." He shifted and began cleaning up the various supplies. "As for where you will go, where would you _like_ to go? I will continue to search for ways to send you home, of course, but I believe that this is your decision."

My eyes moved to Alfred, who was still holding my hand. It was a protective gesture, I noticed, as he was giving Britain a seething look at his implication that I had an _option_ of staying in the UK. Noticing that I was watching him, the goofy smile returned to his face. "Whatever you wanna do, Shelly. I'm all about liberty, freedom, and good food, but you can stay in Britain if you want to…"

"First my eyebrows, now this…" Britain glared. "I have good food!"

"I'll go to America. I don't think staying in Britain would be a good idea right now."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean? Is that any indication of how things are going to go from here on out?" Britain tossed the trash into the bin and spun on his heel, hands going to his hips. "Are you implying that something might happen here in the near future? Is that why you refuse to stay?"

My head shook, "No."

Well partially…yes. The Battle of Britain was about to begin and I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge.

"The reason I don't want to stay is because _everything_ I say will be turned into some sort of prediction. A—Alfred has already sworn not to bring up my knowledge again. Can you promise the same?" When the green-eyed Nation didn't respond, I continued, "I mean no disrespect to you or your people. Just… _You're_ the reason I'm here in the first place. There's no way for me to get home that way, by your magic—as crazy as that is to believe. My staying here will only cause problems. Really, it's probably best I'm lost in the obscurity of the American populace."

America sighed, "Do you talk like all the time? Because, like, you can just talk normal, ya know?"

Uncertain, I glanced to him. "How do I talk? Is it strange?"

"Dude, it's unnatural! Make it stop!"

"She talks like an actual human being," Britain retorted. "Simply because _you're_ uneducated doesn't mean that _every_ American is as idiotic as you."

"Chyeah, whatever! Just because you talk like you've got a stick shoved up your ass doesn't mean that there aren't speakers of 'less intelligent' English on this stupid island, too!"

"You take that back!"

"Right-o, Govna—" America gave a dramatic salute and released his hold on my hand. "Anyway, I don't care how you talk—"

I snorted, not believing that for a second or he would've never brought it up in the first place.

"You're coming home with me. And we're leavin' tomorrow. I've got a few calls to make before we head out, so you'll be safe when we get back. No way in hell is Germany gonna get ahold of one of my own. Hell to the naw!" With that said, America stepped out the door.

In the blink of an eye, he popped his head back inside and rolled his eyes. "And this guy didn't use magic. Magic doesn't exist."

"What?" I questioned with a note of disbelief. How did that make sense? He _saw_ the magic being performed. He was talking to _me_ and I had arrived by magic. As unbelievable as that was, even I couldn't deny it. What…Oh.

Of _course_.

I sighed. My gaze flickered over to where Britain was standing silently, his expression downcast. He hadn't even risen to defend his magic.

If I recalled correctly, the Battle of Britain would begin in nearly a month's time—on the 10th of July, 1940. Ultimately, Britain would win. By sheer stubbornness. The German strategy of terror bombing only worked so well against the hard-nosed Brits and they would eventually give up trying to overtake British airspace. The _blitzkrieg_ would fail in this instance. Certainly, British cities would be bombed and there would be a significant loss of life, but the result would remain for the better.

I couldn't let myself get emotional at this. I couldn't allow myself to be weak.

"Everything will be alright," I muttered. "Though they may come in the night and in the day, at all hours, you must always remember that the British Isles have not fallen in many hundreds of years—to anyone. With that confidence, you should remember what your leader said just yesterday: if the British Empire and its Commonwealth lasts for a thousand years, men will still say, ' _This_ was their finest hour.'"

" _Was it_ our finest hour?"

"One of them, yes." I picked unconsciously at the bandage around my hand. A ghost image overlaid my fingers. Crimson. I shivered and look back toward the Nation. "This…This country has had many fine hours, but…I can promise you that this will certainly be one of your finest."

I knew that he didn't trust me. He probably never would completely, but in that moment, I just wanted to give him some sort of reassurance. He was about to enter a difficult time and, although he could and would certainly blame me for his upcoming struggles…I couldn't help but to give him some hope.

His faraway gaze shifted from me to the window, which looked out onto the fog-soaked countryside. In a whisper that I could barely hear he said, "Thank you."

For the first time since I arrived, however fleeting it was, I felt peace.

** Footnotes:  **

(1) Reference to the Great Depression

(2) YouTube video reference.


	5. Home (or Close to It)

_  
All of this is no idle dream. It has happened time after time, in nation after nation_. – Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 1940

Alfred was somehow able to make communication with his homeland (my guess was through a radio connection hidden somewhere in Britain's house) and we were set to leave at seven the following morning. He said that he had to clear my passage "with his superiors" and that he had to get a plan for my protection started before I arrived on American soil. What he had planned, I really couldn't guess. Whatever it was, I was certain that it was extremely elaborate and probably unneeded.

Regardless, I kept my mouth shut. America would do what it took to keep me safe, if for no other reason than to keep me out of enemy hands.

Not that the Axis knew I even existed. God help if they did.

During all of this, Britain took to staring out of the bay window. For a very long time, he didn't speak. He just sat there.

It was a bit unnerving actually, as if he could see the planes on the horizon. The weight of the free world was resting on his shoulders and I could see that much in the way his back was hunched. The poor man had so much coming at him from all sides.

Only two days since one of the biggest maritime disasters in his history. One day since he was told that it was "his finest hour." Britain was suffering and there was no way he could hide it.

America wouldn't enter the war effort for another year and a half. Until then, Arthur was/would be pretty much on his own. Canada would supply quite a bit of support—particularly aerial support, as they had quite a good air force, but…for the most part, Britain was alone.

It would be another year before Germany turned on Russia and sparked the eastern front of the war. During all of this, there were various other skirmishes that would lead to higher and higher casualties. That's not even touching on the Holocaust that Germany was implementing on the captured regions and his own country.

I glanced down at my hands and saw blood again. Gasping, I placed my hands underneath the white sheets. Those images wouldn't leave my head.

After some rest, I thought that they might. That I would be of sounder mind. I wasn't.

Having a doctorate of history wasn't important here. It was more like a curse. I _knew_ what was happening, horrible details that a normal person (even a fan of the show) might not even know.

The nightmarish ventures of Germany and the Axis Powers.

The retaliations of the Allies.

I knew too much and it was a curse.

"Will they come into the countryside?" My eyes flickered over to the British man who glanced over at me with a solemn expression. "You say they will come during the day and the night, but will they come into the countryside?"

My mouth opened and closed. My heart couldn't take not answering him. He needed some hope. He needed it desperately. "No, they won't. For the most part."

He let out a sigh of relief, "That's…good to know."

I nodded, settling back into my pillows. "The countryside is fairly safe. They'll attack it at times, but…Not as often as other places." Maybe I was telling him too much. Pressing my lips together, I resolved not to say anything else.

Britain shifted his tortured gaze to me again, " _Why_ are you doing this? Remaining silent?"

Before I could answer, the hero arrived with his usual energetic announcement: "THE HERO'S HERE. YOU CAN BOTH CALM DOWN NOW! Uh—Oh, you're both already kinda chill. That's new. And cool. Since Shelly arrived, you've been at her throat, Bri—I mean, Arthur. Iggy. You—person with the imaginary friends!" Britain sent the obnoxious personification a vicious glare. For his part, Alfred looked a little flustered as he continued to rant. "Not that your attitude toward Shells really matters anymore, Iggy, 'cause the plan is all made and everything. I'm calling it Hidden Informant Plan Fifty-Six! HIKE!"

"Dare I ask?" Britain sighed, palming his forehead.

"Pshaw! Because there's gotta be fifty-five other people they'll look for before they want to find her." America gestured wildly toward me, laughing so loudly that the kerosene lamp by the bed rattled. "AHAHA! It's a diversion, right? It's clever 'cause they'd be lookin' for people that don't exist! Fifty-five of 'em! AHAHAHA! Totally had you fooled, right bro?"

"You got me…" Arthur muttered.

I shook my head and grinned. As terrible as that plan was, I had to wonder if he was just explaining it like that to make Britain angry. That had to be it. It was his way of lifting Britain's spirits…by getting him so pissed off he couldn't think of the impending doom of his kingdom. Well, I could certainly help out with that. "There were fifty-six signers on the Declaration of Independence."

"You—You named it after _that_?" The yellow-haired blond shot to his feet. "Of all the things—"

"It could have been Operation Hamburger. I think this is somewhat better, don't you?" I questioned with a chuckle.

Britain turned to me and frowned, "Don't give that fool any more ideas!"

"Dude! Operation Hamburger! It totally _has_ to happen, like soon! Operation Hamburger. Mission objective: kick everyone's assed to Kingdom Come! Then, enjoy a nice round of hamburger goodness~"

"Do you see what you've done?" The elder Nation gestured toward Alfred, who was flailing and doting on an imaginary hamburger that was apparently held in his right hand. Britain meandered up to the side of my bed. "You get a very, very long flight with that idiot there. I do hope he annoys the ever-loving piss out of you."

Just to add to the mayhem, I caught Alfred's attention with a waving hand. "Hey, there could be Operation Milkshake, too!"

"Bloody hell, you're as bad as him."

Grinning, I turned to the Englishman and laughed. "As bad? I'm worse. I'm instigating this."

"OPERATION MILKSHAKE! Okay, dude, you're helping me come up with all mission names from here on out. Official Namer-of-Operations, welcome aboard! We could have Operation Washington!"

"Operation Jefferson," I supplied. Britain groaned and shook his head, falling back into the chair by the bed. "Would you prefer 'Operation Shepard's Pie?"

The beleaguered Nation scoffed, "More like Operation Scones…" As if realizing what he had done, he glared down at me for his fault. "D-D-Don't pull me into this—this—"

"Joviality?"

"Idiocy!"

"Operation Liberty Bell! LET FREEDOM RINGGG!"

"Operation Grilled Cheese!"

"Operation—"

"Enough, enough! That's enough! I think you both have plenty of names to call your utterly ridiculous plans for quite some time."

My eyes flashed over to where Alfred was still standing with one hand aloft. His blue eyes cut over to me and he gave a surreptitious wink along with a congratulating grin. So I _was_ right. He just wanted to piss Britain off enough to get his mind off the worry.

A finger wagged in front of my face and I was brought back to staring up at the Brit. "You! You are forbidden from encouraging his foolish behavior. You should be more responsible than that."

"Eh, she's wasn't bein' irresponsible, Iggy. She was bein' _fun_. There's a difference, you know. Wait, you probably don't know that…I'm sorry. Fun is when people smile and laugh, often at the same time." Sauntering up to the edge of the bed, Alfred deposited a bag on the end while Britain fumed. "Look, you can't really wear the clothes you came here in because—Well, Shell, they're not exactly in fashion at the moment. I was able to find you some clothes that Fran-cis left here a while back."

"WHAT—" Britain stopped and gawked at the dress Alfred retrieved from the bag. "You must be joking! That frog left those here? When? How?"

"How should I know, dude? This is _your_ house."

"And you went through my things?"

Alfred shrugged, "Yeah, so what?"

"You can't just—Have you no—Do you have any idea what—I can't believe—I taught you better than that!"

I pretended to be examining the different dresses, but I could feel their eyes flicker to me. That was a major slip up. Honestly, any other person might have questioned it if they heard it. Some Hetalia fan girls might've squealed at the chance to witness the A and E of the FACE family being…familial. Me? I was just growing concerned that they kept letting the secrets out like that. How did they maintain secrecy for so long if they didn't watch their words better?

"Anyway, they look about your size. I've got a friend out buying you some clothes now for when we arrive in the States. I explained that you lost all of your clothes when you fled France." My head turned quickly, catching onto what he just said. A hand rose to the back of his head and he gave me a sheepish grin. "Uh yeah…about the plan…Well, it kinda involves you being an undercover agent that was under my specific command. With France…um, occupied…We had to get you out as quick as possible, right?"

"Couldn't really tell them about my being from the future, huh? Why France?"

He shrugged, "Pleeeease tell me you know something about France."

I snorted, " _Oui. Je sais assez pour s'en…s'en sortir_." (1)

"YOU SPEAK _FRENCH_?" America shouted, leaning forward with both arms out. "NO FREAKIN' WAY! YOU SPEAK FRENCH! STARS AND STRIPES! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS BEFORE? I WAS FREAKING OUT THINKIN' THAT I'D PUT YOU IN SOME SORT OF IMPOSSIBLE SITUATION!"

"It never came up," I shrugged.

"What other languages do you speak?"

"Just French. Foreign languages are required of American students in the future. Generally the choice is between Spanish and French, but there are others at certain schools. I chose French as my foreign language because I was a big fan of opera at the time. Still am. French operas are phenomenal, by the way." Glancing between the two English-speaking nations, I was certain that this was the most shocked they'd been since meeting me. How strange… "I only know enough French to survive conversation, but I can't write it well."

"Nice to know that you embrace other languages, eventually." Britain muttered. "You could do better with my language though…"

"To be accurate, English has become a global language and is one of the more commonly used languages on Earth, as a _lingua franca_ of sorts. There are many varieties where I come from." Smiling at their dumbstruck expressions, I held up both hands. "There are a lot of linguistic arguments going on concerning English usage—"

"You're talkin' circles around me, Shelly. Like I said, you don't have to talk like that all the time."

"English becomes an international language?"

"Yeah," his glare made me sit straighter, "I mean 'yes.'"

"Hmm…"

"Anyway, aside from all the academic mumbo-jumbo. Pick out a dress and get changed. I'm gonna have a few words with the Brit before we head out. Our flight leaves at seven and it's almost five in the morning." Was it really?

Alfred and Arthur went downstairs, telling me to shout if I needed them.

There were four dresses total and I could only imagine _where_ France had gotten them. One was out of the question due to the high seem line and the size. I would have looked utterly ridiculous. I wasn't a _small_ woman and that dress looked as if it would fit a Barbie doll. After trying on two of the dresses, I settled on a dove grey pleated dress. It was the simplest of the bunch, the only one without a print of some kind.

Although I wasn't ultra conservative in my dressing habits back home (let's be honest, I had to be modest in my career because flashy teachers who showed too much cleavage were regarded negatively), I knew the historical context I was located within. During this time in history, women were supposed to be conservative dressers. Showing too much leg, showing too much anything, could get a woman into trouble. I wanted as little trouble as possible and I certainly didn't want any attention coming my way.

Bah, regardless of all this, I would have still chosen the grey dress.

The hem came to my knee and I knew eventually I would have to wear hose as well.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, I contemplated my hair.

No time for pin curls. No time to do much at all.

Instead, I settled for a French braid. My hair only went to my shoulders, so the braid itself kept my hair off my neck in a functional fashion. Besides, I was supposed to look like an agent of some kind. French braid for a French agent.

"Michelle, c'mon! We gotta go!"

Hurrying down the stairs, I was surprised to find Britain standing at the foot of them. His eyes widened just slightly when I came in sight. I wasted no time in contemplating this, instead focusing on the bag he held in his hands. "My bag came with me?"

Shaking himself out of his stare, he nodded. "Yeah—Yes, I thought you might need it while you're across the pond. I do hope you don't mind, but I did search through it when we first happened upon you."

Thankfulness welled up in me at that moment. My bag. It contained so many essential things from my life back home. Pictures of family and friends that I kept in my purse, some outdated (pre-dated?) money that I could trade with Alfred, papers from my students, books like _War and Peace_ and _The Art of War_. They were comforts of home. In my happiness, I flung my arms around the Nation's stiff shoulders. "Thank you!"

He pulled away immediately, stepping back by a few large steps. "I'm British. I do not _hug_."

America let out a loud laugh at the Brit's uncomfortable declaration.

Instead, I held out a hand for him to shake. "Well then…Sir Arthur, I wish you all the best in the coming times. Should you ever have need of me—"

"Stop with the priss talk!" Alfred complained. "You sound like him."

"Yo, dawg—" I turned to America and smirked, earning a thumbs up in the process. "I bid you mad props in the comin' battles." Britain looked sick, turning green to match his eyes. "I'm kidding. Alfred, I can't talk like that. It's too difficult."

"You speak French!"

"So what?" I questioned, focusing on Britain again. "Good luck, Arthur. Thank you for everything."

"You shouldn't thank me. I've done nothing but make this time even more difficult for you." He shifted, eyes downcast.

My head shook, "No. You tried to send me home and you sewed up my hand. Although we may disagree, you didn't turn me into your government to have them torture me for information. You're not forcing me to remain here until I talk. Regardless of how you view your hospitality, you have been kind. For that, I thank you."

"God, you're both so freakin' stuffy! C'mon Shelly! It's time to get to steppin'. Yo Britain, I'll see ya later, bro!"

Seeing that Britain wasn't going to respond, as he looked quite dazed, I turned and followed Alfred outside. The sun had yet to rise and fog hung low over the earth. When we were almost at the car, a voice called out from the cottage. "Alfred, you best keep that girl safe. Do you understand me?"

My gaze flickered to America, who saluted. "You got it, man."

"If you are ever in any trouble, Michelle, come and find me. I shall help you."

I nodded, "I will. Thank you." With that, I got into the cab and we drove away. Britain remained on his doorstep until we were out of sight. He never waved, never bid us 'goodbye,' just watched as we disappeared on the hilly horizon.

How unbearably alone he must have felt at the moment. Left in his home, fog hanging about like spirits, with the worst of atrocities knocking at the front. Soon enough, he must have known, everything he had ever known would go to hell. He was sitting on a powder keg and there was no escape. Not just because he was an island nation, but because he was the Nation itself. There was no option for cowardice—not even in Italy's case. Nations were chained to their duties, unable to free themselves of that heavy burden. It must have been unbearable.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?"

"Home," I lied.

Alfred pursed his lips, "He'll be alright, won't he?"

As my nation, could he read my mind?

"Nope, I can't read minds. You're just really easy to guess. Your facial expressions give you away."

Nodding, I glanced toward the prepping plane. We would be boarding soon enough for our many-houred flight to the United States. "Yeah, he'll be alright. In the end, he'll be alright."

"Okay. That's all I wanted to know."

It was endearing how much America really cared for Britain. He tried to hide it most of the time, I could tell, but his actions always showed a deeper devotion hidden in the annoying tendencies and loud antics.

"It's a stud, right?" I was startled out of my thoughts by America's question. When he caught my confusion, he gestured toward the plane. "Good lookin' doll, huh? I made her a couple years ago. Didn't know a war was gonna break out. Now, we've retrofitted these bad girls with machine guns and turrets." Yeah, that I could see. "It was gonna be a passenger plane before this whole mess started. Freakin' Germany."

We boarded not long after. The sensation of riding on an old airplane? Daunting. I was used to riding in the newest, state-of-the-art airplanes of the millennium, not duel-engine contraptions that felt as if they were going to rattle apart at any moment. The seats weren't comfortable and the sound was unbelievable. It made me nervous.

"So, you got any family back home?" America questioned after about an hour in the air. Up until this point, he had been silently looking out the window as we flew over various parts of the United Kingdom. It seemed that since we were over the water, he needed something to distract him from the fact that he was…not being a hero.

I was thankful for the distraction myself. Leaving Britain behind…It didn't feel right. I kept seeing him standing alone on his doorstep, quietly watching us leave him to his battles. Guilt ranted through my heart at that. On top of that, my nerves were already fried from the plane. "I've got my Mom, my elder sister, and my younger brother." Before he could ask, I answered the question on his face. "My Dad died when I was eleven."

"Sorry to hear that," he replied. "I've got a couple brothers. I don't really remember my parents. Mom was gorgeous though. I remember that much." Vaguely, I wondered if his mother was somehow Native America. "My bros are pretty cool sometimes. Mattie's quiet, so quiet that you can't even see him sometimes." I snorted. Poor Canada. Of course, America didn't know that I knew who he was talking about. "You've met Iggy. He's not _really_ my brother, but…" He shrugged, glancing out of the window again. "So, why doncha tell me about yourself?"

"How about a fact each? I don't know you too well either." That wasn't necessarily a lie. The caricature that I saw in the anime only portrayed one side of what I was sure was a multifaceted character. As I had already witnessed, he wasn't loud and obnoxious all of the time. Just _most_ of the time. "You go then I'll go and we'll switch off."

He laughed boisterously, "Democracy at its finest!" That wasn't democracy. The misinformation made me cringe. Was America really convinced that it was democracy or was he jerking my chain? "Alright! I'll say something, and then you say something. It's like a game!"

"We can dissolve into discussion at any point 'cause this is will be one long flight!"

"Right! Annnnd go!"

Thinking momentarily, I settled for something simple. "My favorite color is red."

He nodded appreciatively, "Red, white, and blue! Those are my faves!"

Go figure.

"Uh," I leaned my head back. "Let's see…My favorite book is Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice."_

America made a disgusted face, "Yuck. I'm a fan of Hemingway. Dude's a boss."

"Hemingway?" Now that one surprised me.

"Chyeah, that man was a total badass. I mean, yeah, he was in Paris for a long time and he wrote a lot of his work there, but still! He was American and he was a freakin' awesome writer."

It was debatable, but I let it slide. Of course America would like a writer who was straightforward, crass, and rakish. From that standpoint, it wasn't surprising that America liked the man at all. Birds of a feather, right? "When I was a kid, I drove a plastic car down the stairs."

"No way. Dude, _that's_ bad ass."

"I was six," I laughed. "My Dad nearly had a heart attack. We had a red and yellow plastic car that was made for children around four or five. It had been my sister's, who is about three years older than me. I don't know how I got in it or how I ended up rolling down the stairs, but…Yeah."

Alfred let out a peal of laughter that could be heard over the engines, so loud that the pilots turned to listen to see what was so amusing. "So you're a daredevil at heart! I could sense the awesomeness from a mile away."

Snorting, I shook my head. "I don't have an adventurous bone in my body. I just like to stay out of the way most of the time."

"Nah, if that were the case, you wouldn't have bothered standing up to Br—Arthur."

"There's a difference between staying out of the way and standing up for what you believe in."

America gave an appreciative smile, "Yeah. I gotcha there. I like to stay pretty easy-going most of the time. Just take my time, eat some burgers, and be a goof. Still…" his voice trailed off and I could see a flash of the actual Nation sitting next to me. It was almost majestic to see his demeanor shift so dramatically. Just like that, the Nation was gone once more and he shot me a lazy grin. The mask was in place again. "Eh, sometimes…you just gotta buck up and kick someone's ass. And I do it best because I'M THE HERO!"

"Why be a hero?" I questioned, seeing our alternating facts were already dissolving into conversation.

Besides, this was an answer that I had wanted to hear since my undergrad.

The personification gave me a confused look, "Why not?"

"Ah, touché," and a shrug accompanied it. "Just curious because you use that phrase a lot."

"Do I?"

He didn't even realize it? "Yeah."

"Huh, whelp…I guess I just like bein' the hero." That didn't answer my question. He smiled widely. "You know, being the hero doesn't mean flying around and saving people from burning buildings. I mean, I'd do that in a heartbeat, but that's not what it means to be a hero." America shifted and looked at me with a serious expression. I felt my heart leap in my chest. Seeing such an expression on my Nation, it felt strange. "Bein' a hero means leadership, goodness, and mistakes. I make mistakes all the time. I screw up a lot and I know it. So, to make up for my mistakes, I try to be the hero."

We had stepped into deep shit territory and it seemed we were both very much aware of it.

America shrugged as if this weren't a monumental moment, "The other guys think I'm being obnoxious with it. I'm obnoxious by nature so…That ain't gonna change. They think that I mean Superman or someone like that has superpowers. Those are _fictional_ superheroes and as awesome as they are…They're not _real_ heroes. Real heroes do the right thing no matter what. They overcome their own obstacles to be better people. _That's_ the kind of hero I wanna be. So I guess…when I say 'I'm the hero' I'm not sayin 'I'm the _super_ hero!'" He grinned, "Or somethin' like that."

He let out a raucous laugh as if to break the tension. "SO! WHAT ABOUT YOU?"

"What about me?" I questioned numbly, still reeling from the depth of America's actual personality.

"Why be a teacher, huh? Seems kinda boring and you talk funny."

I guessed it didn't matter what he knew about the future anymore regarding my education and such. "I graduated when I was twenty-one."

"What? Twenty-one? Isn't that—like—super early or somethin'? Are you a genius?"

My head shook, "I'm not a genius. I took classes through my summers and worked really hard to get done early. Eighteen hours a semester. School was pretty much all I had cared about outside of my family. I buried myself in it and I am really good at it nowadays. When the time came to decide what I wanted to do with my life, I decided that I wanted to teach. Probably because I was too scared to move outside of academia by that point. See I'm not adventurous at all." With a grin, I looked over at him. I could trust him with this information. Surely, I could trust my own country. "Between you and me, I have my doctorate in history."

He cupped his ear, "Huh?"

It seemed like the engines had grown louder as we rose in altitude. "I have my Ph.D. in history!"

"What?"

"I HAVE MY DOCTORATE IN HISTORY!"

"WOAH, _FROM THE FUTURE_?"

My eyes rolled, "YES! I HAVE MY DOCTORATE IN HISTORY FROM THE FUTURE!... ISN'T THAT OBVIOUS?"

He sobered, staring at me for a few long moments. "Shh! Shelly! What if someone hears you and tells Germany? Then what?" My jaw dropped. _He was the one that couldn't hear_ me! At my horrified expression (not from the possibility of being overheard, but from his total obliviousness), he let out a loud laugh. "HA! HAHAHA! Aw, you should have seen your face. Dudette, like, no worries. There's just us and the pilots. And they're US military! Ultra-trustworthy. Plus, they probably couldn't hear you in the first place. Because it's SO LOUD!" I sighed and pawed my forehead.

Maybe Britain had cursed me on this some-odd hour flight…for shits and giggles. And scones. To make me pay for egging Alfred on during the short stint I had in England. Now, Alfred would be as oblivious and annoying as possible. Just to irritate me. "May all your scones burn (2)," I muttered under my breath with a small smirk at my reference.

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

"NOTHING!"

There was no telling how long I had been asleep. A few hours, perhaps. Maybe. I didn't even remember falling asleep in the first place. When I woke up though, my head was tilted onto someone's bony shoulder.

Groaning, I pulled myself off and cradled my aching neck. That was _so_ not the most comfortable position to sleep in. Probably a fangirl's dream to sleep on America's shoulder, but it was more of a nightmare. The man had the most uncomfortable shoulder in the whole damn world. I was certain of it. With as uncomfortable as he was with his weight, one would have thought that he would have a little extra meat on his arms. No such luck.

"Morning, sunshine!" My glare withered him and he held up both hands. "Not a morning person, huh?"

"More like a 'not a long flight in a loud plane' person."

"HUH?"

He heard me. He was just getting stir-crazy and obnoxious, like a twelve year old on a long flight. We've all been there. I could see it in the way his leg was bouncing and the way he seemed to rattle in his seat. In the future, he would be the jerk who kicks the seat in front of him on accident because he can't sit still. Nightmare flights for conventions flew into my mind and I sighed, "How long until we land?"

"Soon! Dude, the pilot-man was nice enough to get me coffee."

"Ah, that explains it." I glanced around toward the cockpit, wondering if the pilot could feel the heat of my glare.

America didn't need coffee. He needed a mild sedative.

"So, where'd you get your doctorate?" My gaze flew to him as he stood and stretched. "And you've got a really heavy head. Did you know that?"

I didn't miss a beat, "You have a really bony shoulder. Did _you_ know _that_?"

Surprised, America gave an amused laugh. "You really _aren't_ a morning person. I was just being sarcastic before."

Instead of getting irritated, I just shrugged my indifference. Truthfully, I wasn't any an any-time-of-the-day person. Wake me up, I'm irritable. Simple as that. It could be three in the afternoon and I'd still bite just about anyone's head off. Plus, with as little sleep as I'd been able to get in the two days since I arrived…America was just fortunate that I had quite a long string of patience.

"Uh, anyway, you didn't answer my question. What's your alma mater?"

"Old Miss," I answered. "Got my undergrad from UT."

"Tennessee and Mississippi? How the hell did you end up in Kansas City?"

"That's where the job was."

Alfred fell back into his seat again and turned toward me, "So…Can I guess something?" I gestured for him to continue. "Right…Do women get higher degrees more often in your time? Like…Is it unusual or common practice? 'Cause, you know, right now women aren't really…It isn't…"

"Women aren't really encouraged to work, other than taking care of the home and the family."

He sank in his seat, "Yeah. Sounds about right."

"That'll change," I smiled. "I can't tell you when or how. Eventually, women become quite equal to men by way of rights and pay. There's still some issues regarding equality, but we've come a long way."

Al perked up, "That's good to hear. I always thought that women should be treated the same, but no one ever listens to me." His searching blue eyes continued to hold mine. "What about racial equality? You've got kind of a darker skin tone, too."

"I'm part Lakota. My grandfather was full blood." There was a flash of something—guilt, regret, or sadness—that momentarily held me captivated. Then, as quickly as it had come, the emotion was gone. "Racial equality is still highly debated, but…I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you that we have elected our first black president during my lifetime. If that's any indication of progress, then there you go. Relations with Native America are still rather rough and brushed aside. The boarding schools have been done away with by my time." He breathed out a heavy sigh for both plights. Part of the sigh seemed relieved, the other part frustrated. "We have a high population of immigrants from other countries. That's one of our most debated issues."

My ears popped and I realized that we were lowering in altitude. We'd be landing soon. Alfred bounced in his seat. "Immigrants from where? Huh?"

"All over," I grinned. "People come from all over the world to live in the United States."

His chin rose and he looked as proud as a peacock. "Duh," he preened. "The US is the best country out there because—" He cut himself off, but I knew what he was going to say. "Anyway, I know I said I wouldn't ask anything about the future so if you want me to stop…"

"General future is probably fine, but specific future is where the trouble is."

He nodded in acceptance and turned away.

A little white later, he gestured toward the window. "Welcome home, Michelle."

Trees swept past and then buildings. It was utterly fascinating to see the city before it was so built up. New York looked just as it ever had and yet, completely different. There were no ultra-high rises. No shiny buildings. As the plane lowered into LaGuardia Airport, I could see the neighborhood of Queens outside the window.

New York in 1940.

1940!

My heart was racing, thundering in my ears. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and, despite the shadow of the war looming on the horizon, I couldn't help but let my giddy inner historian surface for just a moment. I was beaming by the time the plane settled on the ground. Aside from sitting next to the anime personification of my home nation, this was so utterly amazing.

New York in 1940.

Both frightening and amazing. A place with all the promise of the future and all the stress of the present. I could hardly wrap my mind around it.

And, as I turned to see America standing from his seat, I know somewhere in my heart and mind, that I was home—or as close to home as I was going to get for some time. That alone was a comfort in the nightmare I had been dropped into. Home, or close to it.

** Footnotes: **

(1) Translation: Yes. I know enough to get by…

(2) Howl's Moving Castle reference


	6. New York

_Call me "Devil May Care"_

_I know it shouldn't be_

_But you know me, pal_

_I'll take a dare_

– Glenn Miller, "Devil May Care"

America's obnoxiously loud laughter broke me from my reverie. I had been staring out at the skyline, taking in the beauty of old New York City. "You look like a kid at Christmas, Shelly!" Alfred stood as the plane came to a stop, shooting me a broad grin. "I don't know how they do it in the future, but now we get off on the air strip."

"Oh!" I rose from my seat and shuffled out into the aisle. "I forgot. In the future—" Catching sight of the pilots, I changed my wording. "I mean, back home we have ways of connecting the terminal to the plane. It's safer."

"Man, the future sounds awesome. I can't wait to get there!" America pumped his fist as we exited. For a single moment, I caught the eyes of the co-pilot and smiled. He merely dipped his head as the pilot sent me a bright grin. For some reason, my stomach lurched. It was unnerving. Not thinking on it, I stepped out into the sunlight. "Shelly, c'mon! We're meeting a friend of mine just over there. See that car?"

See that car? I peered over to where a nice-looking Oldsmobile was waiting. The light green paint job was gleaming in the sunlight, shimmering from a new paint job. From the distance, I could just make out a figure leaning on the passenger-side door with his arms crossed and a fedora upon his head.

Alfred looped an arm around my shoulders and began to lead me in that direction, pushing his glasses up in the process. I really didn't have the heart or the gumption to shrug his arm off. Instead, I just let him guide me along.

When I could see the man up close, I wasn't quite sure _what_ to think. He looked an awful lot like Britain with semi-thick eyebrows and corn-yellow hair. His eyes though…His eyes were Alfred through and through.

It was every-bit as creepy as one might imagine. Seeing someone who looked to be the strange love-child of Britain and America…It was weird. The fans would have a fit.

"So _this_ is the dame!" He swept his hat off and gave me a wink.

My jaw dropped open. That wasn't the _accent_ I had been expecting. Maybe a dialect of British or some standard American voice, but certainly not that of Brooklyn. Not just Brooklyn, but _Italian Brooklyn_. Sort of like the Mafia movies Dad had watched with me as a kid. His vowels were rounded, but bright and forward. Tentatively, I reached out my hand for him to shake. "Hi, I'm Michelle."

"Well, Shelly, it's great to meet you! Ol' Al here was tellin' me how ya got into this little time predicament."

Shooting a look at Alfred, he held up both hands. "It was a secure line. You're way too freakin' paranoid. Not like Germany's gonna come snatchya outta bed, right?"

The new guy completely overrode Alfred's defense, stepping forward and into my personal space. I took a step backward to avoid him. "It's a pleasure to meet a fine lady, such as yourself. Me? I'm John J. Jones. At your service."

Jones? I looked at Alfred again and he shrugged, "He's my little brother."

"Little? I'm just as old as you! Older, actually! I'm older!"

America shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, "Whatever. You're shorter anyway. Always have been."

"Shorter? I'm not—" John stopped and glanced at me, lowering his raised fist. "Listen, Al, you're lucky there's pretty Betty here or I'd kick your—" He stopped again and looked to me. "Ignoring my stupid brother here, you are _most_ welcome to hop in my car, darlin'. It's a privilege to cruise around with a dame as co-pilot." With a flick of his wrist the car door was open and he was guiding me inside.

Just before I could sit, Alfred was (somehow) already in the seat. With a smirk, he looked up at his brother. "Whoops. I _fell_ in. Can you believe that? A hero like me just falling like that? Whaddya know? Eh, Michelle, I'm tired and don't want to get up. Could you take a seat in the back?"

My brows rose, "You _fell_ in?"

"Yup," he nodded, "I sure did. Just tripped right into the front seat. Johnny, why don't you help her into the _back seat_?"

Growling a few curses under his breath, the would-be lady-killer helped me into the back seat before stalking up to his seat behind the wheel. He didn't question _why_ his brother had me sitting in the back, which led me to believe that he already knew. Instead of bothering with it, I took to examining the inside of the vehicle.

It was nice, way nice. Though I wasn't very well-versed in car knowledge, I did know that this was a classic. In eighty years, it would become a priceless addition to someone's nostalgic car collection. The leather was smooth like butter and the chrome was extremely detailed. He took a lot of pride in this car. I could tell from its pristine condition.

"She's a nice broad, huh?" John was looking at me in the rear view mirror. He smiled broadly, "You still got cars in the future or do you all fly around in hovercrafts?"

I laughed, "Cars."

"See? I _knew_ it!" John cheered, slamming a fist into his brother's shoulder. Alfred screeched, pulling away from the assault. "I told you that there would be cars in the future. I knew it."

"You haven't brought this up to Julia, right?" America questioned nervously.

John's mouth opened and then closed. He sighed, "I don't have a choice, do I? Gotta keep quiet about all of this. When it's over though? I get to tell her. Everything. She'll be stoked." Did everyone in this verse use anachronistic language? "Bro, I—"

While the brothers bickered, I began trying to puzzle my way through John J. Jones' identity.

Surely he wasn't human. No, that couldn't be possible as a "brother" of America. Was he really a brother though or was that just for show? America's brother was Canada and no others had really been mentioned in the canon. Canada was the only brother and they were twins.

What else could it be? I looked between the two and sighed.

Then, it struck me like a ton of bricks: _the states_.

People in the fandom often personified the states since they were essentially separate nations united into one. My gaze skittered to John's reflection in the mirror.

John J. Jones.

 _John Jay_.

I hid my shock in a fit of coughs. Both men turned to check on me and I held up a hand signaling that I was perfectly fine. Once they turned back around to start bickering again, I gaped at the back of their seats. Oh, I said I was 'perfectly fine'…

However, I wasn't 'perfectly fine' at all.

I was dumbstruck.

Sitting behind the wheel was the personification of New York.

What. The. Actual. Hell.

As a scholar, I shouldn't have been all that surprised. I should have realized straight-off who he was. With a name like John J. Jones, it would seem fairly obvious that he took his name after John Jay, the Founding Father and the second governor of New York. In my mind, I berated myself. I was stupid not to catch that sooner. Peering up at the front seat, I could see the family resemblance.

Alfred was taller by almost a foot, but John was bulkier. He had a more defined jawline and his eyes were actually a darker blue than his "brother's" sky. His hair was distinctly messier, wind-swept and yet stylish. The added fedora was a clear stylistic choice, giving him the appearance of an upper-crust gangster. Could I expect anything less of New York's personification? Neatly pressed shirt and tie, but no glasses. John was more clean-cut than Alfred by a long-shot.

How strange…What was characteristic of John that made him _New York_ and not New Jersey, aside from just his name? Or was I being overly sensitive? Could he—No, I wouldn't doubt myself here. This guy was a personification, a State. I knew it.

It seemed that some headcannons back home were correct: state personifications _did_ exist.

"So, a nice dame like you must have some smart fella back home, right?"

My head turned toward John just as Alfred popped him on the shoulder.

"Damn it, Al! Try that again and I'll break your damn glasses, four-eyes! Don't think I won't just because Ralph gave 'em to ya! I'll break 'em and toss 'em out on the street! The taxis can have at 'em then, damn it!"

Interceding in what could have been a fight, I answered his question. "No, there's no fella back home."

"What—Really? How old _are_ you?"

Ah, now I could see where this was going. Women were generally married by the time they reached twenty-one back during this era. I was probably considered something of an "old maid." Even if it was a rude question, I answered him anyway, "Twenty-four."

"HOW ABOUT THEM DODGERS, HUH?" America shouted, quite obviously trying to end this discussion before it even began. He knew I hailed from a progressive era, but he didn't seem convinced that his brother would be quite as open-minded as he was to the whole idea of women being equal.

John glanced in the rear-view mirror, "You sure don't look twenty-four."

"Thank you," I nodded. "Take a closer look and you'll see gray hair and wrinkles."

"So…Why aren't you married yet? Got lots of skeletons in your closet or a bunch of bad habits? It's always the quiet ones."

There it was. New York.

It wasn't necessarily the rude question. That wasn't what I equated with the state at all.

No, rather it was the straight-forward nature of his questioning. There was no hesitation there, just blatant _curiosity_. To other countries or states this probably would have been perceived as rudeness or overall uncouth behavior. There was no maliciousness in his eyes though and that was what made me realize that he was just asking to be asking. Making conversation, if you will.

"Too busy for romance."

"Too busy making sandwiches?" I snorted at his question. "Nah, I'm kidding. I feel that though. Even women got things to do. Stop glaring at me, Alfred. She wasn't offended. Were you, Shelly?"

Al glanced back to me and frowned, "Sorry. He's a little…"

"Honest? Blunt?" John chuckled amusedly, turning onto a rather deserted street.

"Yeah," Alfred pursed his lips. "You _could_ call it that or you could call it 'being a jackass.'"

"Semantics," New York responded with a shrug.

Rolling my eyes, I turned to look out the window once more. "It's fine. No offense taken. I'm encountered worse. Besides, he wasn't trying to be mean. Just trying to break the silence."

"She knows me already, Al."

We were entering into one of the more affluent neighborhoods, as evidenced by the brick-front townhomes, flower planters, and park benches. Although my study in graduate school had nothing to do with architecture (history was enough, believe me), I could guess that there was some Federalist style in the designs, as evidenced by the black shutters and brick fronts. The only reason I knew that much was because of my architecture-obsessed roommate from Old Miss.

It was funny.

A stereotypical 1940s New York neighborhood.

I could practically hear Benny Goodman's clarinet wailing away and the sound of Glenn Miller's trombone. Jazz and swing on every street corner, playing over the radio.

We were in Brooklyn, which identified with John's overly thick accent without question.

Smacking his lips, America turned and gestured wildly toward a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. "See that place, Shell? They have the best burgers! Like for real! The _best_ burgers!" His lips smacked again and he gave an appreciative whoop. "Oh yeeeeah! I'll have to take you there sometime, Shelly."

"You won't, but I will. She's under _my_ care now, remember? And you've got to head back to D.C. Lots of meeting and shit, remember?"

Alfred sent his brother a withering glare. "I can spare time for one burger…or twenty. Maybe thirty? Well, no more than fifty. Well…However many I end up eating. Seriously, Johnny! I've got time!"

"Whatever," John waved, pulling the car into park outside of a brick-faced rowhouse. An American flag was perched outside the front door, flapping proudly in the light breeze. Some pink flowers resided within a faded black flower box on the bay window. It looked stunningly stereotypical of New York City. In that stereotype, I found the humor. Hetalia. Stereotypes. Ha. "Here we are! Hold on, Michelle." I paused in my opening the door and waited until John had whisked the door open himself, gesturing grandly toward his home.

I was utterly fascinated.

In the twenty-first century, such chivalry was rare.

"Come on in," Johnny waved for me to follow. "Yo, Alfred! You gonna stand around there all day or you gonna come inside, man?"

My gaze skittered to the personification that had come to stand next to me. In turn, Alfred frowned at the rows of houses. His eyes narrowed. I could feel the apprehension rolling off of him. "The houses," he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't see any flags." There was a kind of squeak to his voice like he was whining or being choked. I couldn't really say which. "Johnny, there a reason why people on your street aren't putting up the colors?"

"C'mon, Al! There are some flags down there. See 'em? They're there. And you should see Coney. They've got the colors up all over the place." John shrugged and held the door to his house open, gesturing for us to come inside. I was ushered forward first, stepping into the beautiful home of New York.

It was everything one would expect from the outside. Wainscoting carried throughout the living room and the hallway space, painted a chic white. Dark hardwoods, probably original to the home itself, went throughout the house, up the stairs and into the upper floors. The sitting room was decorated in various light colors, books lining the far wall.

"Houses look different in the future, doll? Or is my house just that impressive?"

Alfred hurriedly shut the door and glared at his brother. "Secret. Under cover. Needs protection. What part of all this did you not understand, bro?"

"Chill out, Al! No one is going to find out about Michelle's secret identity. Trust me; if anyone can keep a big secret, it's me. Especially secret identities. That's why you called in the first place. I'm the master of secrets." His deep blue eyes turned to me and he grinned, "No matter what old Alfred here tells you, I've got you protected. You're in good hands. I promise you. You'll be safe with me."

Alfred crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "It's not that I don't _trust_ you, Johnny. You know that. It's just—"

"Just because I can be a little loud and a little free-spirited, you think I can't keep secrets? You know that's bullshit. From experience."

Glancing between the two of them, I decided to just let them settle this matter themselves. Instead I settled on moving to explore the sitting room. A huge, antique (which meant it was quite contemporary for the time I was stuck in) radio was placed in the corner near the white-curtained windows. I meandered over to it, brushing my hand over the polished wood. Really, these Nations needed to learn to hush their voices. It really was a miracle that they hadn't been found out already.

"If this is about my ties with Germany and Italy…"

"It's _not_ ," America shot back. "I know you'd never—That's not in your character, New York!"

"Damn right it's not!" New York growled, shaking his head. "Do you know what Alabama said the other day? Said that I was probably collaborating with Germany and Italy since we've been so close in the past. Jersey hit that hick so hard that Alabama could hardly stand." His voice lowered considerably and I could feel them watching my movements about the room. "Germany has gone bat shit. Italy won't abandon him again, not after the first war. You know how Germany reacted to _that_ betrayal. If anything, Italy doesn't want to disappoint Germany again."

My hand rose to rest on a world history book that was snug in the corner of the built-in bookshelves. Couldn't they sense me listening?

"I'd never help them, America. You know I wouldn't. My people…They're scared and they're appalled, but they aren't helping those bastards."

There was a long term of silence before Alfred responded. "Britain told me to be careful with German spies. I will bet that he warned Georgia, Alabama, and Virginia as well as the other southern states. You know he's still kinda close to them."

"Never made any sense…" New York muttered. "Those rednecks never actually _liked_ Iggy. They just needed his resources. And they're _still_ pissed he didn't help them like he promised."

"That's not true and you know it," America sighed. "They could say the same for you and Netherlands." John scoffed while Alfred continued, "If things escalate, you'll need to keep your German citizens under watch. I can't stop whatever actions the government decides to take against them."

"We can't kill our own people!"

America hushed him and I continued looking at the books, pulling a novel from the shelf. Whitman.

Yeah, that wasn't shocking at all. What was even more interesting was the fact that both Nations could sense the coming internment of German-Americans and the expulsion of those citizens to various South American countries. "I won't allow that. I won't let them be harmed. You know I won't. I'm the hero and I can't…I can't—any of my own civilians like that, but…Anything _other_ than that, my hands are tied." I felt myself being watched. "You got her some clothes, right bro?"

"Yeah, yeah." New York answered. I slipped another book off the shelf, trying to seem distracted. "You know, you can trust me with her. You're already protective. I can see it in your eyes. You really can't help yourself, can you?"

I paused and acted as if I were reading one of Walt Whitman's poems.

_To think of time—of all that retrospection!_

America shifted. I could hear his boots on the hardwoods. "She's just been thrown here, in the middle of a war. Everything she ever knew…it's gone. I just…feel bad for her, you know? That would…suck."

My grip on the book grew tight. No, he shouldn't feel bad for me! I mean, I felt bad for myself. Sure. It had passed my mind numerous times just how screwed I really was. It was likely I would never get home. I was stranded in a fictional 1940, just before the worst of WWII.

At any moment, I could lose my composure and cry myself into oblivion. At any moment, my existence could be compromised and my life endangered. The only solid blessing and good fortune I had was the fact that my family was safe in my home world. Beyond that, I was in a constant state of insecurity and the nervousness never faded away.

Nevertheless, America had bigger issues to think about. I was the least of them.

In the grand scheme of things, I was nothing.

And I knew it.

And I wanted it to remain that way.

_To think of to-day, and all the ages continued henceforward!_

"She doesn't know and she can never find out about us, John. It would put her in so much more danger than she already is. I mean, like _woah_ , danger. You get me?"

"I get you, man." John conceded. "If she hasn't figured it out with you and Iggy around, then she isn't likely ever to figure it out. The two of you are the worst at keeping this secret aside from Italy and Denmark. You forget who is around when you two start arguing and slip up."

Yes, that was the truth. At least _someone_ was aware of how reckless Britain and America were when in the heat of the moment.

"Hey! Iggy makes the mistakes. Not me 'cause I'm the hero!" America was silent for a few moments before: "You have to guard her with your life, okay? Well, not—You know what I mean. I would—I would—but I can't. By all technicalities, she's Tennessee's, but—dude— I'm trustin' her to you. Please…just don't let her get hurt. She's a lot more afraid than she's letting on and…She's _my_ citizen."

"Is that why you didn't let her stay in Britain with Iggy? It might've been a better idea in the long run considering we don't have the magic to send her home."

"What magic?" America scoffed. "She decided to come with me," he sighed. "Iggy was pissed, but it's better for her safety. If anyone can keep her and her knowledge safe, it's me (because I'm the hero). And Britain's already having problems with resources and spies." Another long-suffering sigh, "The others weren't even options because no one else can know. Besides, I can see _why_ she's keeping quiet. I understand. Sort of. Kinda. And she's tryin' to be so brave with all this. I just can't help but want to help her out."

"Hero complex," I heard New York mutter. "You just see a dame in distress and can't help yourself."

"That too," Alfred laughed lightly. "Just…try to keep her safe. Hopefully, this war will blow over sometime soon and we can get her home."

"Sure thing, Al. I'll do everything I can. Maybe Britain can find a way to send her back before things get too out of hand, right?"

Why did I feel such a surge of uselessness?

Of course I was useless. It was best to accept that fact straight-out. I was a fish climbing a tree, in the words of Albert Einstein. Like America, my hands were tied. I could do nothing to aid in the war because I had to keep the future a secret.

Furthermore, I couldn't regard these personifications as Nations but rather as men. I was relying entirely on the kindness of others and it was infuriating me. For years I had been self-sufficient. I had my own apartment. I paid my own bills. I bought my own clothes. I cooked my own food.

These were things that were considered rebellious in the 1940s. For the most part.

Women were not regarded as able to work real jobs. Not until the men were called into service did women enter the factories and the various other jobs vacated by men.

My knowledge of the future: classified secret.

My knowledge of the Nations: classified (personal) secret.

All of the conventions I had ever known or embraced: gone.

 _Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue?_  
Have you dreaded these earth-beetles?  
Have you fear'd the future would be nothing to you?

My teeth gritted together. I'd have to make do. There was nothing I could do but press through this mess. Maybe, perhaps, someday I would make it back home. Maybe I would be able to hug my mother again. Maybe I could return to my friends. The fact remained though:

The world I had known was gone— from the roles of women, to Civil Rights, to advanced technology.

America was right.

Everything I had ever known was gone.

Except America.

Not the personified Nation. The nation itself.

In some twisted way, I was in my homeland. The flag outside, though lacking two stars, was the same as the one that flew out side of that small community college in the Kansas City of 2015. It was the same. Regardless of all the peripheral factors, that remained the same. For that much, I was thankful. Some sense of familiarity was there and I was clinging to that fact like a life vest. America was the only thing familiar in this uncanny world.

_Is to-day nothing? Is the beginningless past nothing?  
If the future is nothing, they are just as surely nothing._

"Yo, Shelly!" Alfred sauntered up to my side and looked down at the book I was reading. "Woah, Walt Whitman! Love his stuff. 'Course Hemingway's better."

"Shut up," John hissed and moved up to my other side. "Walt was and is better than that wuss Hemingway will ever be!" Hemingway, a wuss? Hello to the 'no.'

"Is this because Walt was from New York?" I questioned, raising a brow at New York's personification. "Isn't that a little biased?"

His expression was nothing less than shocked at my knowledge. "How'd you know that? No one knows that unless—"

"She was a teacher in her time," Alfred answered hurriedly. "Of course she knows."

"Speaking of," I placed the book back on the shelf and turned to the two men. "Would it be possible for me to get a job at a local school? I'd like to at least help out around here if I'm going to be staying."

John's jaw dropped and he did a double-take. "You want to…get a job?"

My head nodded and I glanced to Alfred's face. He shot me a wink and a proud stare. I wondered if perhaps I was pushing my luck. Then again, the education system of the 1940s was, in a word, horrible. The salaries of teachers during that time were as low as thirty-seven dollars a week. This included both teaching and extracurricular activities for the children. Besides that, it would be difficult to find that kind of employment without a higher degree. Then again, a higher degree would make me seem over-qualified for the job and they would find a way not to hire me.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't…"

"It's only June. We may be able to pull this off by August." New York huffed and sized me up with a glance. "You sure you want to teach, doll face? You really don't _have_ to and I'm certainly not gonna make ya. I'm pretty used to being the breadwinner."

Alfred shot him a glare and looked back to me with a supportive smile. "Yeah," America nodded. "You don't have to get a job."

"I want to work for my keep, so if I don't teach then I'll do housework."

"Teaching it is!" John caved with a nervous shout. "Anything but cleaning. I'll take cooking. I can cook better than anyone! Better than you and better than anyone else. Better than Alfred." Of course he could, I thought blandly, he was _New York_. He likely knew cuisines from all over the globe. "You can teach! Yeah, teaching is good. We're short on teachers anyway. Not like anyone wants to—"

"LET'S GET YOU SETTLED IN, SHELLY! HAHAHAHA!" America roughly grabbed my shoulders and began dragging me up the narrow staircase. "WOOO!"

I was dragged none too ceremoniously up the stairs by a cackling America. New York followed behind, a shit-eating grin on his face. For a few moments, I wondered if I should have been concerned about America's redirection, but I didn't bother with it. Whatever it was, it likely paled in comparison to my experiences over the last seventy-two hours.

Low pay? I could care less.

Bad conditions? Bring them on.

Compared to modern-day American classrooms, they couldn't be so bad, right?

And if they were, I would deal with it. I had to support myself and earn my keep. Forties or not, I was a modern day woman and I was not going to become some 'dame' that needed a man to survive. I could and would win my own bread. I wasn't going to just sit on my hands.

"This is your room," John smiled. As I stepped inside, my eyes skittered around the small bedroom. "It's not swanky like other places. I just like functionality. Small spaces gotta work around here." He didn't know the half of it. When New York City grew, it grew upward. The apartments got smaller and smaller within the past eighty years. Or rather, future eighty years? I would have to get used to that.

"I'm more than grateful to have a roof over my head, John. I could care less whether it was the Waldorf-Astoria or Holiday Inn."

"Okay," he smirked, "I got half of that reference."

"Um," I thought about a way to rephrase. It was easiest to switch into teacher-mode. "Essentially, I could care less if this place were a mansion or a shack. Holiday Inn will become a middle-to-upper class hotel chain about fifty years from now. Waldorf-Astoria is one of the most well-known hotels in New York, even in quite a few years from now…" Brushing my hand along the soft blanket that lay on the bed, I continued. "I'm just thankful to be housed in such comfortable accommodations."

"She does this a lot," America whined. "All that uppity-talk."

"Your clothes are in the drawers and closet," John smiled widely, thankfully changing the subject. Alfred rolled his eyes and began fiddling with the small radio on the dresser. "Got you a lot of things so you wouldn't be without. There's still some…stuff…that you need to get. Namely, shoes."

There were quite a few suits and dresses in the closet. Some feminine pants were in the drawers. It was all more than I could have hoped for. I'd have to go shopping for unmentionables and shoes, but that would give me time to settle in of my own accord. I was unspeakably grateful and when I began to say as much, both men waved me off.

"I helped out 'cause I'M THE HERO!" Alfred shouted, beaming at me. I didn't flinch at his volume.

John was a bit more subdued, "You're welcome, doll face. You'll be fine here. We'll be some good roommates." Although, a male and female living together without being married was considered bad form during this time period, he didn't seem all that bothered by the idea. Maybe he was a bit more forward-thinking than America seemed to believe. "Besides, I'm lucky to be living with such a pretty dame." Fighting back a blush, I shook my head and grinned. "Well, a guy's gotta try, right?"

"Nope," America shot back. "You don't have to keep trying at all! Brains really ain't your type, bro."

"How about you shut up, Alfred? Or I'll break ya glasses."

As the two personifications argued, I slowly made my way to the window of my new room. I looked out onto the peaceful streets of Brooklyn Heights. On the horizon, Manhattan was teeming with life. And as the sun sank a bit lower, I thought I saw some darkness seeping in from the west. When I blinked again, that dark shadow was gone and the sunset was a brilliant orange and red.

My only fear was the morning when the sun would rise with red. If the sun rose with red, then storms were coming. _Red sky at morning, sailors take warning_. So they say.

A red dawn was approaching.

This was the last bit of peace before the war kicked into full-swing. Soon enough, the Battle of Britain would begin. Arthur would be left to the German Blitz, terror bombings. America would grow more and more involved—"soft-hearted but not soft-headed" in the face of growing fear amongst nations.

Extermination camps were already on the rise. Labor camps as well. Jews would be forced to wear the yellow stars. Estonia and Latvia would become a part of the Soviet Union, as Russia collected Nations like empty bottles of vodka. Italy would try to invade Egypt and Greece. Both would require the help of Germany eventually, but only one would fall to the German-Italian forces. Egypt would remain under British control until the end of the war. The American draft would begin. The Tripartite Pact would be signed on September 27, 1940, thus making the Axis Trio united in mutual aid. Warsaw, Poland. Hungary and Romania would subsequently join the Axis.

All of that in the remainder of 1940 alone—a span of six months.

Oh, God help us all. This war was just beginning.

And there was no escape.

As the sun sank, I realized that a nightmare lurked on the horizon—a terrible storm brewing over Europe and the Pacific.

The Nation in the doorway was completely unaware of the pain that was approaching, just laughing and listening to the swing and jazz New York was playing on the radio. John Jay Jones chuckled and turned the dial on the small radio even louder. The rapid beats of "Sing, Sing, Sing" made it feel like my head was spinning.

They didn't know.

I couldn't tell them.

It was becoming harder to breathe, harder to think. I just stared out that window and listened as the trumpets played faster and faster. It was foreboding that filled my chest. Images of what was to come raced through my head, stirred on by the rapid beats of the music.

There was no escape.

For anyone.

No escape.

Suddenly, the prospect of living in New York City during the forties was terrifying and the thrill of meeting a living State left a bitter taste in my mouth. Frowning, I turned slightly from the window and watched as America and New York played along with imaginary instruments to the swing tune that lilted out of the radio. They laughed and smiled, dramatically wailing on their air-clarinets. And I watched, transfixed, wondering how long such carefree times could last.


	7. 1940

_Let not the defeatists tell us that it is too late. It will never be earlier. Tomorrow will be later than today. –_ Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 1940

It seemed surreal. For a moment, I could forget everything to just indulge in the sights and sounds around me. The war seemed so far away that night in November. New York City was on a high, still buzzing with the third-term reelection of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. There were parties and hoopla and circumstance. New York City was filled with energy, pulsing with it as swing music drifted through the streets. Clarinets, drums, and trumpets.

When I was home (in 2015), I never would have thought I would someday _cast a_ _vote_ in the 1940 Presidential Election.

Any history buff would have fainted at the very idea.

I had studied it in a graduate class. I knew some of the quotes from the inaugural address by heart. When I displayed this talent in one class I was teaching, the students laughed and shook their heads. "You memorized that?" they questioned.

Of course I did. It didn't seem all that strange to me, but they just laughed harder.

Supposedly, I had "no life."

My students always thought I was pathetic for how much I knew about the World Wars, about history. Like I had nothing better to do. Perhaps my generally disheveled appearance didn't help matters any. Although I tried to dress well, I always had bags around my eyes and there was almost always an air of nervous energy around me. My hair was never quite in place.

That nervous energy never faded, even in the past.

Even after months in this fictional history, I was still harried. And it was getting worse.

Slowly, I was becoming more and more anxious. My hair was growing frizzier and frizzier from my hands pulling at the strands. The stress of, well, _everything_ kept me terribly edgy at almost all times.

It was only these small pleasures that allowed for my normally racing heart to calm for a few hours.

Voting in _the fictional world of Hetalia_ in the 1940 election? The whole affair seemed even more impossible.

After a while though, reality just…settled. I came to realize that the world I was in was, indeed, real.

And I came to accept it.

I was slowly coming to view the world as an actual "world" rather than a "fictional place." It was no longer something I expected to be awakened from, like some night terror or bought of psychosis. I just accepted my fate as this, as this new reality became my reality.

It reminded me a bit of how I learned to accept that my father was never coming home. That sort of quiet shift into acceptance. Once enough time had passed, it just wasn't strange anymore.

Despite the utter "awesomeness" of the idea, such a _concept_ was difficult to grapple with: entering a foreign world. Even as I thought it over from the dark nights in New York's house, I still couldn't get over the sheer impossibility of what I had gone through. A new world, a new reality, dictated by the rules of fiction. It was horribly familiar and yet terrifyingly foreign.

In the fan fictions I read when I was younger, such things seemed rather easy to grasp.

' _Oh? I'm in the world of Hetalia. Huh, well this is cool! Let me go irritate the Nations.'_

If not that reaction, then things were a bit more serious: _'How in the world do I get home? Nations of the world unite! Help me find a way home!'_ _'It looks like I can have some fun with pairings and have sexy-time with the Nations while I'm at it.'_

In real life, life just wasn't that…easy.

Honestly, I wished it was. How desperately wished it was!

If it were _that_ easy to accept, then I would have been saved many (really painful) headaches.

And a lot of tears.

A whole lot of tears.

In all honesty, I didn't have much contact with Nations in the five months I had been in "Hetalia." I met Britain and America, yeah. For the first three days of my stay in this world…

Certainly, I saw John Jay Jones. Some. I was his roommate, after all. And he was, by all technicalities, a Nation-esque being. Although I really didn't understand the hierarchy of Nations and States, I knew that there was a difference between the two. It stood to reason, at least.

Still, if we were talking about the actual _stars_ of the show—America, Britain, and the others—then it was safe to say that I had little-to-no contact with them at all. America had visited three times in the past five months. Every time, he would put on this unbelievably happy and carefree façade. He would stay for a day and then leave again.

Personally, I thought that adjusting to the concept of "living in fiction" would be the most difficult aspect of my life.

I'm mature enough to acknowledge that I thought wrong.

Even if I had my doctorate in history, I didn't expect that I would ever have to _live_ it.

Reading about the past in a text book does not compare to actually living the history. Such as the fact that I was extremely well-versed in the gender roles of the 1940s. Although it was not the topic of my dissertation, it was the focus of a good doctoral student friend of mine, who spent hours telling me of the sufferings women had to deal with in the time period. That information was useful, given my situation.

Funny how little irritations such as Lisa's obsessive spouting of gender studies had become a part of my everyday life.

Wearing dresses or skirts every day?

Stockings and hose every day?

Heels _every day_?

Thank the Good Lord I didn't have to wear make-up or I would've snapped within the first few weeks.

Though, my boss had told me that if I "dolled-up" I could earn some extra dough. Wretch.

In 2015, I didn't mind wearing a skirt every now and then. When I felt like it. When I wanted to be feminine and maybe a little flirty. Same went for tights or heels.

In 1940, it was considered reprehensible for a woman to be wearing pants outside of the factories. It was also considered lewd if a woman strutted around without the proper stockings or the proper shoes.

Even such a small thing as fashion was a huge issue to contend with. I was used to jeans and t-shirts and bare skin. I was used to tank tops and short shorts. I was used to a different world.

"You're really self-conscious, aren't you?" John questioned.

Turning on my patent-leather heel, I glanced toward the young man—or old State (what have you). He grinned, gesturing toward my suit. His brow rose and he chuckled at my uncomfortable expression. The gray suit was looser than when I first donned it in June.

Food hadn't been appealing for months and I only ate what I had to. Brushing a hand down the front, I jerked down on the jacket hem. "Not self-conscious," I shook my head and looked ahead in the line.

He shifted by my side, "Is that why you keep straightening your jacket like that? First time to the picture show, doll face?"

"In this decade? Yes." I muttered in a low tone. The line continued forward.

So many people. We were lucky to get a seat on opening night. My gaze flashed to the various faces around me. The crowd was giddy and exuberant. Despite the chill in the November air, the bright lights and smiling faces made the atmosphere seem warmer and charged with energy. A few women were giggling several feet away while their men laughed loudly. They were clearly a little tipsy from their earlier evening escapades.

"It's a good thing I know a few people," John stated with a smirk. "I could've never gotten these tickets if I didn't know…Well, if I didn't know _important_ people." He chuckled amusedly, looking around at his citizens. It seemed to ease his tension somewhat to see such vibrant energy. "Nice what they're doing, huh? Helping out the Brits like this."

My head nodded. I never knew that Disney had donated all of the proceeds from opening night to support the British War Relief Fund. It was one of those forgotten facts, lost during the hectic future events.

Britain was being bombed almost daily; terrorist attacks against civilian-populated towns and villages. Largely, it was London, but also Southhampton and Manchester. All over Britain.

That was the whole reason I wanted to attend the premier of _Fantasia._

As soon as I knew that money would be going to Britain (to Arthur) I knew I had to go.

If for no other reason than to support him.

It just so happened that John had arrived home that very night with tickets to the premier citing his 'friends in high places.' Tickets had been notorious for selling out.

"Are you excited?"

I turned to him and forced a smile, "Of course. I'm very excited. Thank you for this."

His lips pressed together and he ran a hand through his blond hair. There was a moment of consideration before he sighed, "You're not excited. If you were, you'd be giggling like those girls over there."

My eyes flickered over to the obnoxiously laughing young women. He expected me to behave like them? They were obviously debutantes, hair all done up in pin curls and cleanly pressed dresses with beautiful fur coats. Their heels were clacking on the concrete with every shift in their stances as they leaned into their upstanding dates.

He expected me to be like _that?_

I pressed my lips together and gave a shuddering giggle. My head shook.

"You're not exactly a doll, are ya?"

I didn't know what to say to that except: "No. I'm not."

Chuckling again at my disgusted expression, the personification of New York leaned against the wall of the theater building. Soon the doors would open, but until then we were stationary. "So you're not the pretty dame you keep pretending to be. Color me surprised. I thought you were all mild manners and good upbringing."

My hackles rose at that jab. I was perfectly well-raised. My mother and family did perfectly fine with my upbringing. Making a dig like that was like saying that my family was of bad stock. My back straightened and I glared at him. "Excuse me?"

He gestured around at the various beautiful examples of the mid-century. "All of these girls are happy to smile and giggle and fawn over their dates. You're just scowling at the pavement and muttering under your breath about your clothes."

How the hell could he compare _me_ to these girls?

There was no comparison.

They were gorgeous, stunning images of the upper-class 1940s society I had always imagined from the black and white photographs of the time. Fur coats and done-up hair. Their make-up was painted on with an undeniable precision— red lips, pale faces. They held themselves as ladies of their ilk should: straight back and proud shoulders.

They giggled because they could. They had that ability and that freedom.

They didn't have any weights holding them down, blissfully unaware. Perhaps who was loving who and how they would nab the man of their dreams. Those were major concerns.

They didn't worry yet over whether or not their man would go to war. Or if they would make it one day or if they would somehow attend college.

These were all stereotypes I knew, but the stereotypes of the time existed for a reason.

Me?

It was like comparing diamonds and rocks. They were shining gems and I was just a stone.

My shoulders were hunched over and I kept my eyes on the ground most of the time. Why? Because it was easier than looking ahead. It was easier than engaging anyone in conversation. Conversations led to questions that I couldn't answer.

'Where're you from? Where were you educated? Where's your family?' I didn't pay attention, in one ear and out the other.

The comforts of familiarity had disappeared with my world and I was now in an unfamiliar place and with that came an ever-waning confidence. The only times that I held some self-worth was in front of my students and even then I was uneasy.

Up until this point, too, _John_ had paid little attention to me. My newness had worn off after the first couple weeks and after that I was left on my own.

I worked for a living. I didn't indulge in high priced items, even back when I was making a decent wage. My money went to food and some basic necessities.

For the months of my residence in New York, he had not eaten with me, arriving home late at night from wherever he was in the city. Parties, work? Sometimes I tried to figure out what he had been doing, but eventually I gave up and just lived (was it really living?) my own life separate from New York's.

There was a war happening all around, people dying every second. People suffering due to my refusal to talk and give information. That kind of knowledge brought a lingering darkness to my heart and mind that I could not escape. It followed me everywhere, hovering in the hollowness of my eyes and the darkness of any shadows.

That sort of weight bore down on a person and it grew heavier every single day.

The weight was neigh unbearable.

How could I act like those girls?

I _wasn't_ those girls.

I could and would never be _those girls_.

Mostly because I was a _woman_ and not some giggling, fawning child.

And my hands were stained red. Blood red.

And I didn't belong here.

"We're not the same," I stated clearly. My arms crossed over my chest and I ignored the heat behind my eyes. "You're forgetting me, John. Who I am. I'm not just some dame from New York with a pretty brooch and a mink stole."

His mouth opened, but he said nothing. I looked upward toward the sky. A few stars could be seen in the blackness beyond the lights. Those stars would disappear within ten years' time with bigger and brighter lights. Taller and taller buildings.

"I have bigger things to worry about than trying to wriggle my way into your bed and a diamond ring on my finger. I'm not looking to have a good time or to party it up or to find a good husband. I'm not here to giggle or to flirt or to even see a movie. I'm here because-because-"

"Because you have no choice," John supplied.

Letting out a breath, I turned my gaze back to him and saw the brightness of understanding in his eyes. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I _am_ grateful, beyond anything you can ever imagine."

He shrugged, "Doesn't change the fact that you're right. You're not here because you _want_ to be. You're here because there's no other choice."

"If I was going to end up somewhere, I'm glad it was here."

Sort of.

John smirked, "New York City is the best place to be in the entire world. _Of course_ you're glad to be here."

That wasn't necessarily the 'here' I was referring to, but if I had noticed anything about New York's stereotype representation (besides his Brooklyn accent) it was his arrogance concerning New York City. "Right," I forced a smile.

The line started to move then and I sighed, turning to start moving. In the process, my arm was grabbed and I was held still. Gasping at the sudden contact, I was surprised to find that John was holding me back from continuing with the line. The people around us slowly disappeared, paying no attention to the woman that was being gripped by the casually leaning man.

Was this a New York City thing or a 1940 thing? Or a human thing? Ignoring that kind of action?

"We'll be late," I gestured toward the door.

He pursed his lips, "Your wrist is thinner."

I made to jerk my wrist away, but his grip became tighter.

"You haven't been eating, have you?" At my silence, he cursed. "Damn it, Michelle! Alfred put you in _my_ care and you haven't been eating. What have you been thinking?"

What a dangerous question to ask me.

Being virtually _alone_ in the fictional past for the past five months didn't have a positive effect on my mentality. How could I eat when I knew that there were so many people suffering? Death camps were starting their terrible purpose soon to solve what Hitler called the "Jewish problem." Britain was being pummeled by the German blitzkrieg. Italy was invading various places and it was only a matter of time before even worse things happened.

All because of my silence.

I could stop these things. I knew I could. Couldn't I? But that could change the future. It would change the future. What if the wrong things changed and the Axis powers won? It was a risk I didn't want to take. I couldn't take that chance.

Panic was welling up in my chest.

Not to mention the terrible working conditions of my job. I wasn't used to being at the _bottom_ of the food chain. Hell, I wasn't even part of the food chain. Now it wasn't just my professional inexperience, but my gender as well.

If it wasn't for my coworkers, I would have already been placed into some cases of harassment I wasn't quite ready to deal with yet. My boss was a slime ball and the other teachers quickly pulled me into their fold of protection. We watched each other to keep each other safe from the unwanted advances.

I wasn't strong enough for any of this.

I wasn't and I knew I wasn't.

I missed my family. My friends. _My life_.

John's grip on my arm slackened and my hand fell to my side, clutching at the hem of my skirt. "Michelle?"

"D-Do you know what it's like?" My chin was quivering, but I struggled to maintain my control. There was no way I would lose my composure. Not here. Not with him. Never. I was strong. I lifted my chin and continued with a thick voice. "My family. I miss them so much. Every single day. At least I have the comfort of knowing that they are probably okay. Are they though? I-Is my mother still alive or did she die in a sudden car accident? Was my sister's baby born? Did she die in childbirth? What about Corey? Was he killed in action? I don't know! I'm not there! I'm here and I'm…I'm alone."

Once again, New York opened his mouth and then shut it again. He didn't know how to respond. In his long history, I guessed that no one had travelled through time before. Wars, he had seen his share and other various terrible things, but he didn't know how to comfort one upset woman on his street.

Even if I knew he couldn't do a damn thing to help, I continued.

"And knowing the future!" My voice dropped to a whisper. "It's torture. It's torture to know something, to know what will happen, to know that _lives_ are on the line, and to ignore those things for what you consider the 'greater good.' It rips you apart." It makes sleep impossible. Makes you see blood on your hands. It makes you split at the seams.

"Why do you keep silent then?"

It was a question that I knew he had been dying to ask me.

"If _one_ thing changes," I breathed out, "the entire outcome of the war could change." Blood was on my hands, I could see it for a few seconds before it went away again. It was an image that came into my mind every so often. "I told him…I told Arthur that their blood was on my hands. And it is. I…Everything is my fault."

"It is not!"

My head shot up and I stared at the personification. He looked affronted.

"This stupid war is not your fault, Michelle. You didn't make Germany attack Poland or France or any of the others." John scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I know that won't change your thoughts on this, but I don't hold you responsible and I'd pummel anyone who did. Knowing the future doesn't make you responsible for it."

He charged forward and rested a hand on my cheek. I stared at him with wide eyes. It was the first contact I'd had with anyone in almost six months, since Alfred had left.

"As for being alone," he muttered. "I didn't mean to do that to you. Leaving you alone in that place like that…I should've thought that through a bit more."

"I'm a grown woman," I argued. "I can take care of—"

"Yourself," he nodded. "I know you can. You've done great so far, sweetheart. You've managed to keep yourself fed and clothed and even managed to leave leftovers on the counter for _me_ whenever I decide to show up. Frankly, Alfred put you in my care and I blew it."

"You didn't! I'm-I'm being immature and selfish! I can't expect you to stop your life for me! This is…This—This is me being selfish."

John J. Jones snorted a laugh and placed his forehead onto mine. I started to jerk back, but he held both of my cheeks in place. "I don't think you're selfish. You're alone in another time, eighty years separate from everything you've ever known. You've been dropped into the middle of a war.

"Your knowledge separates you from everyone. You don't know the culture here because, ultimately, the culture's different from when you were born and raised. You're a woman in a man's world when you're pretty much used to be a woman in an equal world. You're educated beyond your station and treated like a pariah for it so you have to hide your knowledge for fear of being treated like an outcast.

"You're no longer your own person. You're dictated to. Your worth is determined by the men that you know. Although you know some good men, like Al and me, we haven't done jack shit to help you adjust.

"That's not to mention that you have _guilt_ overriding every other feeling. So much so that you've been spending a third of your weekly earnings to send letters to Ig—to Arthur in a show of silent support."

How did he know about that? I had been extremely secretive regarding that particular facet of my life. He couldn't have possibly known unless…I was being followed. Anger welled up within my chest at that prospect. At the same time, I should have guessed as much. My irritation flitted away on the November wind. How could I truly be angry when I might have done the same? "You've been spying on me."

"Only at first," John shrugged as if it were nothing. "It was a precaution, but you are no longer under surveillance. I know you keep sending letters because you spend some of your earnings on stationary each month. That's where the off-white paper for the grocery list comes from." His arms crossed over his chest. "There has never been a response so I'm assuming that he doesn't know who's sending the letters."

Of course I didn't put a name! That would just add insult to injury. Arthur would likely view it as my rubbing my forward knowledge in his face as his people are killed. No, silent (anonymous) support seemed the much smarter option.

"You're trying so hard and yet you're stuck in neutral. There's nowhere you can go but to remain here until the war ends. And the people that you came to trust abandoned you on the doorstep of a man that had better things to do."

When he put it like that, I felt my nose starting to prickle and my eyes filled with tears. "I'm pathetic. Why can't I just be…"

"Strong?"

"Yeah," I sighed.

He chuckled and pulled back, thumbing away the tears on my face. "You know there's a great woman I know…of. She once said that women are like teabags. They don't know their own strength until in hot water." The corners of my lips pulled up a bit. Eleanor Roosevelt, wife of our newly reelected president. "I'd say you're in some pretty _warm_ water right now. And crying doesn't make you weak, neither does being alone or saying that you're pathetic. Strength is in the way you react when _true strength_ is required of you. Until then, you are simply living."

"Simply living?"

He nodded and smiled broadly, "That's right. Simply living requires some strength, it also requires some hardship. It's the same in all times of history, I think. We experience the daily torments of loneliness, poor self-image, little dramas that seem overwhelming." He seemed to interpret my shift as a negative reaction. "I'm not saying that your troubles are little. They're real and they're important, but…they're not unfixable.

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, doll face. I got so caught up in myself…You know, I'm not used to having someone depending on me. Generally, I've been pretty free to do as I please, but I should have thought about you. Arriving home to an empty house must have been hard. After a while of returning to an empty home, you grow used to it. I did. I left you on your own because that's what I'm used to."

"You didn't—"

"I did," John hushed me. "I pretty much ignored that you were there. I shouldn't have done that. I can get easily distracted by things." With all of his lights and shows and events, of course he did. I had thought of that before. New York was a free spirit at heart.

"I'm able to take care of myself." I didn't want to interrupt his life. He had enough going on without having to worry about me.

"I know, but you shouldn't have to be _alone_. And you won't be." He held out an arm for me to take and grinned in my direction. "You can take care of yourself perfectly fine, but there's no harm in making me realize and acknowledge just how _lonely_ you've been. Downplay it all you want, but I know it's true. I can see it in those tears. You're not crying because you're weak or because you're overworked. You're crying because you've been so lonely that you can't stand it and you're only now allowing anyone to know."

I was lonely.

Only now could I really, truly see it.

How long had this ache been in my chest?

Five months.

No, I couldn't lose it like this!

I was pulling apart, unable to take the realization of how lonesome I was.

Five months.

I missed my life.

Teaching my classes, college and not the high school students I was currently instructing.

Kansas City: the low-rolling hills, the jazz on every corner, the excellent barbeque.

Nashville: the mountains, the country music, the extended family get-togethers on holidays.

The technology: cellphones, computers, the internet, good television, and so many other advancements.

The _relative_ peace of the future.

Racial equality, gender equality, movement toward sexual orientation equality.

I missed _home_.

My Mom, Donna, and Corey. My grandparents.

I missed my friends: Lisa, Coraline, Darcy, Hyo-yeon, Jack, Reece, Kristy, Ricky, William. Alicia, the best officemate a professor could ask for. I missed everyone. Even the students that ignored me every single day in class. The ones that texted on their phones and the ones that giggled behind their hands. I missed their familiarity in this foreign world.

New York stared at me, watching as I continued to curve my body inward. I was trying to hide my face in my hands, leaning forward. My thoughts of the busy street fled away. People were likely gawking at the crazy woman bawling on the corner of Broadway.

Arms wrapped around my shoulders and I was pulled to a strong chest. Initially, I pushed against his hold. It had been too shocking and too intimate. I hadn't been hugged for five months. "Let go for once, Michelle."

My head shook as I buried my face in his shoulder. The weave of his jacket was course from the wool. "I—I can't. I can't. I don't want to."

One of his hands rubbed comforting circles into my back and I felt my walls crumbling. "From this moment, you've got me. You do. I promise you, Michelle Daniels. I promise and I'm a man of my word." His hug grew tighter. "God, I'm so sorry, doll face. I should've known."

"D-Don't apologize! Please don't! You've got…other things to worry about."

"We're going in circles here," he chuckled. "Just shut up and accept me as a permanent figure in your life now, okay? Things will go so much easier if you just accept that I'm now taking on the position of 'honorary brother.' That's a pretty awesome honor for you! I'm the coolest dude in New York—"

My tears abated somewhat at his declaration both for the sheer gravity of what he was saying and the fact that he _was_ New York. Of course he was the coolest of _himself_. It made me wonder if he knew that he sounded conceited. My guess was that he thought he was being clever.

"And that's it. Stop crying. Crying never gets anyone anywhere; it just makes them feel better. Are ya feeling any better now that you've got all that pent up emotion out?"

My head nodded and I pulled away, brushing at my wet eyes. A handkerchief came out of nowhere, held to me by the personification. "I-I'm sorry that I lost it."

"No big deal," he crossed his arms behind his head nonchalantly. "Isn't like I've never seen someone lose it before."

Letting out a hollow laugh, I bobbed my head. My still-wet eyes glanced toward the shut doors of the theater. "John," he looked to me, "we're late for the show."

John shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? These tickets must've cost a fortune!"

He waved me off, "You really just wanted the money to go to Britain, right?"

Uneasily, I nodded.

"Think of it as giving to charity and not wasting money. Besides, I'm not in the mood for a picture show tonight anyway. We'll go another time." Deep blue eyes sparkled in the lights of Broadway. "Oh, and call me 'Johnny.' That's what my brothers and sisters call me."

"Johnny," I tried and smiled. "It'll take some getting used to."

He smirked, throwing an arm over my shoulder and I ignored my discomfort. We continued to move down the street, ignoring the looks of disdain thrown at us from the occasional 'upper crust' aristocrats. Such closeness was frowned upon. "Now, I say that we go get some pie. I need to take you to Dino's before Al checks in. He'll throw a fit if you haven't tried their pizza."

"Alfred is coming soon?"

"He's back from his mission."

Shock rippled through me.

 _That_ was why America had been absent, even though he had made numerous promises to come by and visit. He had been deployed on a mission.

My mind flashed to the scenes in the anime.

 _Of course_. The meetings. That explained some of it. And it also showed that there was far more going on behind the scenes of the actual anime and manga.

Johnny continued through the streets, dragging me along. "Al said that he hopes you're doing well. He's been worried about you." The young man's voice sounded regretful. "I never relayed his messages…"

So Alfred had been making contact. Johnny was just never around to convey that his 'brother' was communicating. Although I was irritated at New York's apparent inability to pass along messages, I was grateful to know that Alfred had not forgotten me.

"You're mad," Johnny laughed. "I'll remember that your left eye twitches when you're pissed."

"What did he say?" I wasn't going to rise to New York's bait.

The blond gave a half-hearted shrug. "Said something about staying safe, keeping the secret, that he'd be home for Thanksgiving, and that he's sorry for just leaving you with me. In hindsight, he probably should've left you with Tommy-boy. The hick's better at taking care of people. Well, kinda. If he isn't off making his moonshine." When he saw my raised eyebrows, John Jay laughed. "Tommy's my brother. He lives in Tennessee. Seeing that you're from there, Tennessee might have been the better choice."

"I thought there was no better place than New York?"

"HA!" the personification cackled. Now I could certainly see the family resemblance between Alfred and John. "That's _right_! There's no better place than the Empire State! Take that, THOMAS FREAKIN' _WILLIAM_ JONES! Your girl thinks I'm damn WONDERFUL! WHO'S THE 'STUPID YANK' NOW, HUH?"

 _Thomas William Jones._ Tennessee personified, I guessed. If his reaction was anything to go by, Tennessee and New York were competitive for some reason or other. Likely due to the Civil War.

Noticing that I was watching his whole tirade, New York straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. With a grin he straightened his fedora. "Not that I have anything against Tommy-boy. Not at all. Old news, ya know? I don't have anything against that hick." And that mannerism- running a hand over his face- looked an awful lot like a certain Brit.

"Right," I nodded and gestured toward the street corner. "Isn't that Dino's over there?"

And we walked on.


	8. The Passage of Time (Part One)

_We do not forget the silenced peoples._ –Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 1940

If it had not been for the caring and nurturing of John Jay Jones, I would not have survived my time in the past. He was my light in life, the illumination in the darkness. Adjusting to the ways of the forties had been difficult in theory, but in practice it had been so very much worse than I could have ever expected.

Women were regarded as rather less than anything. Respected by some but mostly disregarded by a vast majority of the male populace. It was an utterly frustrating reality. It would be a few years before women were considered for military duty (roughly 1943), with the development of women's military roles. I was trapped in a reality where I was considered less than par.

I couldn't be outspoken about this unfairness without being degraded. Anyway, I wasn't outspoken by nature. Most of the time, I just took it and silently endured.

And I was expected to be demure and cultured—a picture of a lady. This was becoming more and more bearable. More and more part of my 'norm.' Since arriving into the _Hetalia_ past, my posture had gotten better. Although I often wore slacks around the house, I wore subdued dresses out in public. I even had a string of pearls that America had thrown at me after visiting for Thanksgiving. Said something about their "being free" and muttered something about the First Lady under his breath. I liked to believe that he didn't steal them from Eleanor Roosevelt, but I never asked.

Compounded with the women's roles this was the fact that I had never been away from my family for such a long period of time before.

I missed my mother, my sister, and my brother terribly. I missed my friends.

My television shows and books.

My job. I definitely missed my job.

Thirty-seven dollars a week. That was my wage. Even in the 1940s this was considered meager. I was paid ten dollars less than the men who worked the same job as me. In modern figures, that was upwards of a hundred dollars less than the males. Essentially, I was being paid the wage of a graduate teaching assistant…with less payoff and more responsibilities.

And the students weren't any better than in the future.

They were a little worse, actually. They did not care, more interested in getting out of their neighborhoods or partying or dancing or drinking or the war. Well, maybe they were about the same—the only difference was the fact that most of my 1940-41 students were sixteen years old. Far too young to see such dull eyes and drawn faces.

They didn't care about what some "mousy broad" from Tennessee had to say about books they never cared to read.

It was a battle to get them to listen to a woman. It was a war to get them to care about their education. Especially the girls. Some were totally invested while others would attend school to appease their parents and meet their husbands.

And the boys usually knew if they would make it past their forefather's businesses or not. If they didn't have the money for higher education, then most would drop out of high school by sixteen.

Some even earlier than that.

A lot of these boys were going to be drafted soon. I knew that. Even as I tried to teach them, I knew that they were going to head off into a warzone they simply were not prepared for. That knowledge would strike me now and then and I would have to keep my tears in check while I kept my back to the class.

As positive as I had been before getting the job, it was a struggle to keep my head above water. It was far worse than I could have ever imagined.

Through it all, Johnny kept me grounded, listened to my complaints, made me laugh, took up the role left empty by my absent family. After a while, it just became routine. He became my brother in everything but blood. And his nature as a State was nearly forgotten with the passage of time.

**November 31, 1940**

" _Doll," he said. I spun on my heel and faced him. My face was flushed with anger and hurt. "You need to calm down."_

" _It isn't like this back home. No one can make it on thirty-seven dollars, Johnny! No one can do that! I'm_ lucky _here. You're helping me. You and your brother and your family. You're keeping me alive. What about Dawn and Edith? How are they going to make it when—" When their husbands left for war. I closed my eyes and stopped. When I reopened my eyes again, they were full of tears. "It isn't fair, Johnny. They can't deduct things from my pay like this! Just because I'm a woman and they need to hire that new bimbo with no degree, they cut four dollars from our paychecks._ I _don't have to make rent, but Edith! All because Principal Davies wanted an_ easy woman _on his staff." His brows rose at my thickening voice and I continued to grow more and more upset. "Because I wouldn't—If I didn't—What if I—I know I'm being petty. People are_ dying _and I'm complaining about my paycheck. About how_ I've _been wronged. How selfish am I?"_

 _John didn't respond for a long time, crossing his arms in the doorway. My heart sank at his silence. I really_ was _being petty, weak, and selfish. "You're right. The wages aren't fair. The hiring system isn't fair. It's something that has to be fixed." He fixed me with a stare. "Does it change?"_

" _Y-Yes," I nodded, "for the most part."_

" _What's this about Principal Davies and 'you wouldn't?'"_

_My eyes averted and I glared toward the window over the sink. "He made a pass at me. Well, not just me. He made passes at Edith, Chloe, Charlotte, and Hillary before making it to me. Each of us turned him down. Some more violently than others."_

" _He…"Anger was bubbling up in his tone. I could see this posture become a bit more militaristic. It would have been threatening if I didn't know him. "Did what? What did he do, Michelle?"_

" _Nothing I couldn't handle," I responded automatically. The tears were gone and I stared determinedly out the window. "It was a few weeks ago."_

" _And you didn't tell me?" I shrugged. He was still fuming with anger. His jaw muscles were flinching under his skin. "_ That's _why?"_

" _That's why he's deducting from our weekly pay. Yeah."_

" _That's not what I mean!" John stood from his chair and paced toward the far side of the room, shoulders hunching forward in the process. "That's why you came home with those bruises? Because of that rat bastard?" His fist launched out at caught the doorframe, denting it. I flinched at the suddenness of the action. "You should have_ told me _, Michelle."_

" _It's over and done now. Like I said, nothing I couldn't handle myself." I thought back on the principal's stunned expression when I landed a solid right hook into the side of his chin. "He'll never make another attempt again. Not if he doesn't want a black eye. Don't let it be said that I'm defenseless. I'm not." New York's brows rose up at that, but I didn't elaborate. I knew how to throw a punch. It was enough to keep sleazy paws away. Besides, the man was tiny. "The bimbo is getting half of the money deducted from our paychecks and Davies is pocketing the rest. Says that it's recompense for the 'humiliation' we caused him. At least I didn't attack the man in public—"_

" _Does this kind of thing change in the future, too? Tell me it changes in the future."_

_My head bobbed in affirmation and sank into a chair at the kitchen table, "For the most part."_

" _Then find some solace in that. The future isn't terrible. It can't be…if you come from there." With a few quick paces, he was kneeling in front of me. I jerked back in surprise. "Look at me, Shell." I did and found myself enveloped in warm hug. The walls I had kept up for the past few months were collapsing again. "Whether you're here for just these six months or the rest of your life…You can always depend on me._

_You've held this in for so long that you lost it. Again. Let me carry some of the burden, okay? That's what friends are for. Hey, why don't you tell me about home? Your home? Nothing about the war or anything from this time? How awesome does everything become? What about New York City? Best in the world, right?"_

After my breakdown on Broadway earlier in November, he always tried to be home by the time I got off work. He'd have dinner ready, a complete departure from most households of the time. Usually, the women were expected to have the meals prepared and the house cleaned. Things in the Jones' household were completely different after he realized just how badly I was taking the changes.

The cuisines varied from night to night, but he quickly discovered my love for his Italian food. When he knew that my day had been particularly rough, he'd present me with his best pizza or pasta. Though it was nothing compared to Dino's, it was still delicious. Sometimes, I wondered if Italy had taught him the recipes.

When the days were unbearable, he would make the most wonderful cheesecakes to cheer me up.

New York's cheesecakes were…Well, words really couldn't describe them. It figured into his characterization, I guessed. New York was known for its cheesecakes so it stood to reason that he would make good ones.

All of this wasn't one-sided though.

After "the Broadway incident" (as we came to call it), I became more of a figure in his life as well. At least, I liked to think I did.

I was there for him as much as I could be. He fretted over Alfred's safety often, blaming it on his brother's "top-secret" job with the government. Supposedly, Alfred was a sort of "international liaison" for FDR. He also threw around terms like "spy" and "highly sensitive information" that Alfred knew of. I always nodded and took these things in stride.

Mostly because I knew the truth:

Alfred _was_ the "secret." He _was_ the "highly sensitive information." As for the "spy" bit, I somehow doubted it. In all honestly, Alfred would likely blow his cover by declaring himself a hero, eating an unhealthy amount of hamburgers, and/or laughing like a maniac while undercover.

Any other Nation within a hundred mile radius would know he was there.

Not only did Johnny tell me his worries that Alfred would never return home, but he also told me his worries over his own infrastructure and blamed his leaders for the upsetting changes regarding the developing draft. It was all in a very roundabout way, referring to his job as the "mayor's aide."

During all of this, he never _once_ mentioned his role as a State.

I had met a few others by the time Christmas had rolled around.

New Jersey was a nice young woman, who favored Arthur a bit more than New York with jade-green eyes. Delaware was a rather short man, appearing older than the others (possibly his mid-twenties). He was quiet, tended toward silence.

They all maintained the cover of being a "family," which I acted to buy hook-line-and-sinker. Delaware clearly took on the role of the eldest sibling. As the 'First State,' it seemed to fit.

**December 24, 1940**

" _Yo, George, this is Michelle! She's the girl we've been tellin' you about!" America thumped the man on the back and sent him flying forward a bit. Acting on instinct, I grabbed his arm and sent him a small smile. Delaware nodded his thanks and stepped away, straightening his jacket. "She's all spiffed up today."_

" _Just left church," I explained. "Christmas Eve service."_

_Delaware nodded again, "You look nice, Miss Michelle." In contrast with New York and America, his modest attitude was somewhat refreshing._

_New York snorted and threw a dramatic arm across my shoulder. I didn't bother to shrug him off. It never worked anyway. "Don't let Jean hear you say that. She'll get jealous." I noted a slightly exasperated look on George's face. If he had been a more impatient person, his eyes would have rolled. "Then again, she may just try to set you up with the broad from Philadelphia again, you—" I narrowed my eyes and smacked Johnny's arm. "Uh, right. Not 'broad,' I meant 'woman.' That_ woman _from Philly. Totally respectable."_

_America laughed loudly at my reprimand. "AHAHA! You've got him trained, Shelly. I've never seen New York take back words that fast. Normally someone has to rough him up...you know what I mean?"_

" _Like anyone_ could _rough me up," Johnny scoffed. "I've been telling ya, Am—Alfred!" It was one of the first and only times that New York had ever slipped up. Maybe it was the excitement of Christmas. "She brings the teachin' home! I can't count the number of times she's hit me with a ruler."_

" _Yeah right! Shelly couldn't hurt a fly!" Alfred yelled in response, falling into a pit of laughter he probably wouldn't escape any time soon. I shook my head. "You're just a wuss, Johnny! Admit it!"_

 _George demurely lowered his head and smiled. He truly_ felt _like the oldest among the states I had met. He held a certain air of quiet confidence and took an elder role to the two present immortals—both Nation and State. First State, indeed._

_Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw him look at the two bickering blonds with a huge amount of affection in his eyes._

_He cared deeply for his 'brothers' and it was so clear that I had to look away for fear I would tear up at the sight of it. Delaware was the epitome of an older brother figure, if I had ever seen one. His crystal clear blue eyes reminded me a bit of my elder sister from back home. Donna…_

" _Shelly! I gotcha something cool! You're gonna love it. Then, you're gonna say I'm the most awesome hero EVER!"_

" _We've got to sing carols first, Al! No presents until tomorrow morning."_

_A knock sounded at the front of the house and New York nearly jumped from excitement. I was released from under his arm and took a deep breath, pawing my head. "That's gotta be New—I mean, Susie! That's gotta be Susie!"_

" _Aw, no. She's gonna rail me for forgetting her birthday again!"_

" _Sucks to be you then. You of all people shouldn't forget any of our birthdays!"_

 _My first Christmas in the past and it wasn't much different from the present. Save that_ my _family wasn't around to celebrate it with. This family though—human or not—was a fine enough group with which to spend the holidays, drama and all. (It was never Christmas without familial drama, regardless the year or universe.) They tried their best to make me feel welcomed among them._

_And, by the time Christmas morning came around, I momentarily forgot that I wasn't with my blood relatives. Instead, I had somehow become entrenched in the Jones family. It was the first time I felt "at home."_

The transition to the animated world was not as easy as one might think. Knowing the conventions of the anime, one would think that each State was a stereotype of their people—like the Nations in the anime. This was not the case. In fact, I had started to postulate various theories about the nature of the personifications during the long nights I spent lying awake.

On the surface, Nations and States (as well as Provinces, if I guessed correctly) _were_ stereotypical, banal representations of their countries and populaces. This made up the surface of the actual animation—the jokes and the jabs at various cultures and histories.

In this world, one could think of these personalities as a front, a mask. The humor was there, just as it would be in real life. Still, this was an actual world and—no matter how funny things were at times—there was always darkness with the light.

If each country was portrayed by their so-called "weakest" components, then the enemies would not be aware of their strengths. Or those strengths would be considered less dangerous. It was a feint made by all Nations and States, a decoy.

And it was a clever move.

Such as America, for example. He acted like a moronic, burger-obsessed idiot with a hero-complex.

All of the traits were _very real_ , but they were hopelessly exaggerated (at times.) He really was obsessed with burgers and he really did have a hero-complex. He was loud and obnoxious and usually ignorant of the situations around him.

To the point that no one really took him seriously.

Therein lay the advantage.

In the meantime, while he was being thought useless and oblivious, America was making use of this idiotic façade to deliver materials to the Allies throughout the past few months (years, really). He was preparing a force to be reckoned with, amassing an Army and preparing a Navy the likes of which the world had never seen.

All behind the mask of an idiot.

At times, that mask would slip or he would remove it entirely, but I had yet to witness the serious America first hand. Even around me, or especially around me, his mask always stayed in place. Albeit, he sometimes tried to tone it down a bit. Still, I knew what he was doing. He was keeping me in the dark about his true nature: both his more serious side and his Nation status.

Other Nations were likely doing the same. Wearing a mask, that is.

None did this more cleverly than North Italy.

In the anime, he was portrayed as the foolish, pasta-loving, lay-about weakling with a surrender-complex.

(Complexes were common with Nations, I deduced. Not surprising.)

Hence the name Hetalia.

All were true enough, but…

Would a "foolish, pasta-loving, lay about weakling with a surrender-complex" be able to invade Greece and Yugoslavia? True, he had to get help with Greece, but ultimately the Hellene Nation fell to the Axis might. True, he was weak by comparison to other Nations, but that didn't stop some of the most foolhardy operations from being under Italian control. True, Italy was instrumental in so many wars that it didn't bear counting.

Certainly all these things, but—

Something did not jive with his mask.

If he and his government were better prepared for war, then would Italy have held out longer? I hoped never to find out. Italy had been ill-prepared and that led to the failure of numerous operations in North Africa. If they—he—had been better prepared, would he have won those battles? Probably.

It was a little unnerving to consider. What would the repercussions be if North Africa truly fell to Italy's forces? What would happen if Egypt or Syria fell or if Libya remained under Italian control? The thoughts didn't bear considering. It wouldn't happen anyway. My lips were sealed and the future was set in stone. Those Nations would not fall and Italy would remain foolhardy. Germany would have to keep bailing him out.

I would have loved to question John about these things, to let him know that I knew his big secret, but I knew that I couldn't.

If anything, I had learned just how secretive the Nations were about their identities.

And why.

**December 30, 1940**

" _So, you're saying that_ China _was captured? What? That's impossible. The guy's a freakin' ninja. He can escape anything."_

" _By all technicalities, Japan is the ninja. Wang Yao practices kung fu." New Jersey—also called Susannah, after the wife and daughter of New Jersey's first governor, William Livingston— shook her head and smiled faintly at the magazine she was reading. "You know China would strangle you for a mistake like that."_

" _Yeah, yeah." Johnny waved her off. His voice became concerned. "You don't think that Kiku would hurt him, do you?"_

_Susannah was quiet for a moment, then murmured, "I don't know."_

" _If Ludwig got ahold of Arthur—"_

" _I don't know, Johnny!" His sister's voice lowered again and she sighed, "I don't know."_

_Nervous energy pulled through my chest and I couldn't listen anymore. I carefully made my way back to my room and left well-enough alone. Nations didn't fall because their personifications were harmed, but…it was certainly a factor of weakness. That much I had gathered through observation. We could only hope that China would be released soon._

Not long after that incident, America arrived with news that China had escaped "without harm" and was currently duking it out with Japan in yet another battle. The Hundred Regiments Offensive had succeeded and with that Chinese victory, China established a new plan: "Three All."

Kill all, burn all, and destroy all.

The China-Japan conflict was about to get worse. A lot worse.

By this point, I was getting better and better at eavesdropping. I didn't care if I was breaching their privacy.

Alfred looked sick, pale and drawn. The service drafts were putting a strain on him with all of the political unrest that followed and there was a distinct lack of enthusiasm in his demeanor. The war was starting to affect him more and more with each passing week. I could tell by the tired look in his normally bright blue eyes.

 **January 9, 1941** (1)

" _Civil war," he sighed one evening. I noticed that New York had gone still while grilling the hamburgers. America palmed his forehead and growled under his breath. "Civil wars at a time like this…No one can help them."_

_That had been the last I had heard on the subject of China. By my knowledge, he was undergoing an extremely difficult time with Japan. That particular war had been raging since 1937. Ultimately, China would never get the aid he really needed in dealing with the foreign threat._

_And that thought made me sick._

_His entire identity would collapse with his civil war and the let down from the west would cause him to fall into ruin until the Communists stepped in. And that future was highly debatable. It didn't bear thinking of at the "present," so I pushed it from my mind._

_Only two days before, on the 7th of January, the dispute between the Nationalists and the Communists became more pronounced with the New Forth Army Incident. Essentially, the Communist forces were surrounded and attacked by the Nationalist forces. Though, no one_ really _knew what was happening with China's internal war. This was all hear-say amongst the Nations, I assumed. Alfred acted like it was common knowledge._

_All I knew was that China was suffering._

_America never asked me why I put my head on the table or why I wouldn't give him information of the coming troubles. He just placed a hand on my shoulder and told me that I would love Johnny's hamburgers. "Maybe even more than Louis' down the street!"_

I was tired all the time.

I worked during the day, sponsored various clubs, and came home in the evenings.

I could barely sleep.

On the weekends, John and I would meander around New York City or help with volunteer efforts. I kept up with the escalating war via information from both America and New York, as well as information gleaned for newspapers and news films. They tried to protect me by only discussing small occurrences, but I needed to be fully informed.

Christmas was pleasant, with America visiting for a few days before reporting back to D.C. Susannah came by as well. I was given a new pin for my hair and a new pair of shoes. Easter passed without any moves toward finding my way home. John and I attended a local church and hunted eggs with the small Sunday school children. They held a food drive for the struggling Brits.

Britain was busy with the bombings and likely cursing my name to Kingdom Come for letting his people die in those terrible raids.

Besides, I knew something that the personifications didn't.

Britain's magic wouldn't take me home.

That left me with nothing to go on.

And the nightmares were growing worse.

More and more blood coated my hands with each passing dream. By the time I came to sit in front of the radio box that night in May, I was _drenched_ in blood—the blood of all those who had died so far and all of those who would die in the future. That weight bore me down, making me lethargic and thinner than ever. I never told Johnny. It wasn't his burden to bear and, though he told me to confide in him, I couldn't let him know this side of me.

It was too intimate, too close.

I was too ashamed.

Loneliness was one thing.

My guilt was another.

** Footnotes: **

(1) New Forth Army Incident, Second Chino-Japanese War


	9. The Passage of Time (Part Two)

My guilt was a constant companion. Even more so than Johnny. It was with me waking. It was with me sleeping. It was always there, weighing down my heart and body. I could feel it every time I picked up my pen and scrawled out a letter to the war-torn British Isles.

Those letters were a cathartic practice for me. I tried my best to keep him from realizing just who was sending them. I never even specified that they were to "Arthur Kirkland." I just said "Sir" at the beginning of ever letter. I would try to encourage him, keep him from losing himself in the midst of the battles. Especially when the bombings were particularly bad. London, Liverpool, Southhampton, Manchester. It was terrible to witness the newspaper headlines while knowing...While knowing that somewhere, Britain was staring out of a window with a faraway look and holding his side as if he had been shot. It was just...terrible.

The scrawl of my script was exactly as my father's had been. Sharp, cursive. Slanted to the right.

Sometimes, it felt as though I were writing in blood rather than ink.

 **May 1, 1941** (2)

_Sir,_

_You should keep fighting. Keep battling. Keep your chin raised and your back straight._

_There's a light at the end of this tunnel. Though you can't see it, though it's dark, that light is there. It's flickering like the flame of a candle. It's warm and it's entrancing._

_And it_ is _there. And that light—hope—will never leave._

 _There's a song that I know. You won't know of it, I'm certain. It's from a very distant land, somewhere on this Earth. Wise men once said, "And when the night is cloudy/There is still a light that shines on me/Shine on until tomorrow, let it be."_ (3)

_Take a deep breath. Close your eyes._

_Now, let that breath go._

_Get to work. I'll write you again soon._

Roosevelt's voice was calming, but strong. Hearing it in the context of the war and not in some classroom, it served to make the chills break out on my arms even faster than before. I shivered. " _Our future independence is bound up with the future independence of all of our sister Republics._ _The pressing problems that confront us are military and naval problems. We cannot afford to approach them from the point of view of wishful thinkers or sentimentalists. What we face is cold, hard fact. The first and fundamental fact is that what started as a European war has developed, as the Nazis always intended it should develop, into a world war for world domination._

I continued to listen, enraptured. My legs were thrown over the armrest of the chair and I stared down at the words of the novel I had been reading before the broadcast. On the sofa, New York listened with his fedora settled over his face. Just on the other side of the room, Alfred leaned in the doorframe and watched the floor. The fireside chat went on for quite some time. Each of us remained silent, listening.

" _In June 1940, Britain stood alone, faced by the same machine of terror which had overwhelmed her allies. Our Government rushed arms to meet her desperate needs."_

 _His_ desperate needs. By all technicalities, they were _his_ needs. Arthur's.

" _In September 1940, an agreement was completed with Great Britain for the trade of fifty destroyers for eight important offshore bases._

_And in March 1941, the Congress passed the Lend-Lease Bill and an appropriation of seven billion dollars to implement it. This law realistically provided for material aid 'for the government of any country whose defense the President deems vital to the defense of the United States.' Our whole program of aid for the democracies has been based on hard-headed concern for our own security and for the kind of safe and civilized world in which we wish to live. Every dollar of material that we send helps to keep the dictators away from our own hemisphere, and every day that they are held off gives us time to build more guns and tanks and planes and ships._

_We have made no pretense about our own self-interest in this aid. Great Britain understands it—and so does Nazi Germany._

_And now—after a year—Britain still fights gallantly, on a 'far-flung battle line.' We have doubled and redoubled our vast production, increasing, month by month, our material supply of the tools of war for ourselves and for Britain and for China- and eventually for all the democracies."_

My eyes skittered to America again. He was still as a statue, listening with all of his rapt attention to the words of his leader. I wondered vaguely why he wasn't in D.C. with the president as he normally was during these chats. From what I had gathered (from overheard conversations), during these fireside chats, it was America himself that the president was talking to. The listening audience was just a peripheral.

With the look on Alfred's face, none of this was very reassuring. He knew the real deal behind the smoke and mirrors. And he knew better than anyone just how close this war was coming to his home—to him.

It was frightening him, I could tell.

I could see it in his blue eyes.

I didn't know America better than anyone. No, it would have taken many lifetimes to know him that well. Even so, I did view him as a dear friend. His pain was growing more and more evident with each new speech and each passing day. He hid it behind a constant façade of happiness and laughter. It was easy enough to see past that, when one knew what to look for.

John himself was growing paler and paler. The consuls and delegates from Germany and Italy were soon to be forced out of the United States. It was only a matter of time before that became common practice. As a man and State that thrived on culture and immigration, it was like telling him not to breathe or eat.

And his appetite had literally decreased. Something I had noticed over the past few weeks.

" _Some people seem to think that we are not attacked until bombs actually drop in the streets of New York—"_ John flinched at this, "— _or San Francisco or New Orleans or Chicago. But they are simply shutting their eyes to the lesson that we must learn from the fate of every Nation that the Nazis have conquered._

_The attack on Czechoslovakia began with the conquest of Austria. The attack on Norway began with the occupation of Denmark. The attack on Greece began with occupation of Albania and Bulgaria. The attack on the Suez Canal began with the invasion of the Balkans and North Africa, and the attack on the United States can begin with the domination of any base which menaces our security—north or south."_

It was foreshadowing in the most blatant sense of the word. As this was a world dictated by fiction, it stood to reason that such things as foreshadowing were very much present.

Maybe in my own world, this was the case as well. It seemed that these warnings were present before, this sort of prophetic statement that gestures toward what could be and then it later becomes reality.

Soon enough, there _would_ be a direct attack on the United States. Just as Roosevelt said.

When I glanced down to my hands, I could see red liquid clinging to my fingers. So used to the image by this point, I merely blinked and saw that the blood had disappeared again. The warm feeling of it remained and I found myself not listening to the remainder of the President's chat. The phantom blood—a manifestation of my own fraying psyche—had been appearing for months. I never spoke of it. Never told, save for after nightmares in dazed mutterings.

It was best to ignore it. And that's what I did. It was what I always did.

By all technicalities, I knew this wasn't the average fireside chat.

It was an announcement of unlimited emergency. We were being placed in the "red," to use President Bush's old (future?) color coding system.

Red, red. Everything was red.

Things were only going to get worse.

 **May 27, 1941**.

I wondered if I would have known the date if I hadn't witnessed it myself. It felt as if some of my knowledge was slipping away with the passage of time. I know the most important dates and some insignificant occurrences, certainly. I knew plenty about America's coming battles. I was forgetting smaller events elsewhere, mainly in the North Africa and Pacific Campaigns. Not as if any of that knowledge was doing anyone any good.

My eyes closed and I let my head fall back onto the chair's plump cushion.

Eleven months.

I had been in this fictional past for eleven months.

I was a coward.

In the dream world I was entering, I didn't dare open my eyes. I knew they were there. They were always there, haunting my nightmares. Hunting me. Lurking around every corner.

" _Ve~ Germany! She's awake!"_

" _Ah, Dr. Daniels. It is time you stopped running."_

" _Hai. You should stop running."_

My eyelids pressed together and I withheld a whimper. I was so _tired_ of hearing them in my dreams. I was tired..

Perhaps in my old world, my home, those voices were that of actors…That fact became secondary in this world. Eric Vale no longer voiced America. Patrick Seitz no longer voiced Germany. It was simply America's voice, Germany's voice. Likewise with Britain and the other Nations. There was no difference.

And it was the voices of the Axis powers that troubled my dreams. They would speak to me, tell me what terrible things I was doing.

How I was helping them so much.

Then, the screams would start up. Always, the screams would follow. It never failed.

At first, voices I did not recognize. A girl and others.

France. _"Non! You cannot make me betray them! Well…I—"_

Then, Britain. _"Damn it! You bloody coward! Fight me man to man!"_

Explosions and cries for help _._

And America. _"You bastards! You wanna a piece of me? Come and get it! I'm the hero! You can't take me!"_

So many voices would join them. China. Russia. Hungary. Austria. Greece. Spain. I could hear them all, but I never dared to open my eyes to the atrocities. Instead, I kept to the darkness and allowed it to soothe my fears and pains. My heart raced and I could hear the building terror.

I had to do something.

I had to stop them!

No, I couldn't do anything.

I couldn't stop this!

I was too small and this war was too big. Nothing I could do would be enough.

There was no stopping it.

" _Come then, Dr. Daniels. You think that you are blameless? You were never blameless in this_ **war**. _"_

Gasping in a breath, I shot straight up in my chair. The living room was quiet. Overhead, the lights were dark and the only luminance came from the kitchen down the hall. My hand rose to my chest and I let out a shaky breath. The large radio sat in silence, the speech was over. So, too, was the nightmare.

Carefully, I eased myself out of the chair, pulled the blanket from my legs, and found my footing on the cool wood floor. Johnny or Alfred must have covered me up. Voices were coming from the kitchen and I made my way through the hallway as gently as I could. The seriousness of the voices gave me pause. It was America and New York speaking, hushed and worried.

"Britain isn't gonna be able to keep this up for much longer, man. I mean, he's done great so far, but—You know, Frank sacked our representative over there? Because he told Arthur that he couldn't keep this up." America sighed and I could imagine him rubbing a hand over his face. "He's got some of his confidence back because of that boat going down."

"The _Bismark_?" New York questioned. "It was a huge victory. He _should_ be proud."

"Italy and Germany are still being stupid about this." America sighed. I eased forward so I could see them sitting at the kitchen table. Both had coffee cups sitting before them, untouched. It looked cold with no steam rising from the rim. "We're gonna get rid of their consulates, Johnny. We have to."

"What? That's not right! These people didn't—I won't—"

"It's a security move, New York. You don't have a choice."

My muscles locked at the look of sheer wrath on John's face at that statement. "I have a choice. I have always had a _choice_ , America. Have you forgotten that?"

"No, I—"

"With the draft—"

America growled, "It was the _only_ thing that could be done and you damn well know it. Don't you dare think that I _wanted_ any of this to happen! Not for one damn minute! I've already told you, my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do to stop any of it, the draft, none of it. I'm lucky that I have as much power as I do and that's only because Frank's a good guy when it comes to treating me like I matter. Besides that, I'm just a tool for the government and nothing more! Don't you dare think that _I'm_ doing any of this—"

"So you can be the hero? That's what you preach, isn't it? You're the hero! You're the hero! Are you really a freakin' hero, America? You're not a damn hero! Heroes don't exist! They never did!"

My breath caught at the look Alfred shot his 'brother.' It was dark, menacing. There was a hopelessness there that seemed to run deep through the Nation and nation.

"I'm not the hero. You're right. You're absolutely right, John. I'm useless… You think I don't know that? Ha! AHAHAHA! Yeah, right. Britain's getting the shit beat out of him and I can't do a thing to help! Mattie's over there fighting! _Mattie_! My Mattie! My _real_ brother! Where am I? I'm stuck here. I can't go to war unless I'm _ordered_ to go to war. I do everything I can to help while I'm tied up here watching _my family_ suffer. You think you're telling me anything new, New York? Huh? Do ya? How do you think I felt when…when France…"

Silence draped over the kitchen like a funeral shroud and I felt my knees go weak from the weight of it. Leaning against the wall outside the door, I waited for New York's response. "Your family, huh?" He muttered. "And what am I, America?"

"That's not what I—"

"That's _exactly_ what you meant. I'm a State. Not as important as a Nation. Not good enough to be family. I get it," John stood from his chair and walked over to lean on the counter. His hands were gesturing wildly. "It's always been like this, America. The ever-important 'hierarchy.' States vs. Nations. Provinces vs. Nations. We're not equal. Never have been."

America's mouth opened and closed, "Y-You know that's not—"

"Hey, I'm over it. I figured it out a long time ago. Oh, about 1860 to 1869. Took nearly ten years, but I figured it out!" My breath caught. That was a low blow. A really, really low blow. He couldn't be bringing _that_ up at a time like this. "Yeah, you remember that, don't you? How could you possibly forget, huh?"

America was silent, eyes wide.

"What was it you told Britain? Something to the effect of 'if you decide to recognize the States, you may at the same time prepare to enter into an alliance with my _enemies_.'"

The Civil War. I could remember studying this in my undergraduate coursework on the Civil War. William Seward supposedly said something similar to the British government, threatening war if the Isles acknowledged the existence of the Confederate States.

"Stupid or not, stubborn or not, you didn't have to put it that way, America. Alabama was sick of you showing your superiority back then. You know how the rest of the Southern group gets when you act better than them…" New York trailed off and sighed, "I know where we rank. Secondary to our Nation, to _you_."

"I didn't mean it like that," America murmured. "I never thought I was better."

"No, maybe not. You just don't know when to shut up or… when to listen. You always try to be the leader and to be the hero. Well, shut up for once and just stop for a few minutes. Just stop."

At this, Alfred seemed to deflate. He slouched low in his chair and he sighed. "I…I don't know what to do."

"Who does? No one knows what to do."

Almost reluctantly, America answered. His voice quivered terribly, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying himself. "W-What about…M-Michelle."

I went still. I even stopped breathing. No, he hadn't seen me. America was oblivious to being watched, always. It was something I had discovered over the past months.

If he didn't see me then…

My heart began to pound in my chest. Butterflies filled my stomach. My arms and legs began tingling.

No…No…

Please, no.

"What?" John questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. He was wearing the white oxford shirt I had gotten him for Christmas. "What was that, America?"

"Michelle knows what to do," America muttered. He looked conflicted, like he didn't want to be saying these things. Fear lurched through my stomach. This couldn't be possible. He had promised. He _promised_ that he wouldn't ask me. "She knows what we need to do. What _I_ need to do."

"Alfred…No."

Shuddering, I tried to ignore the sticky feeling on my fingers as I nervously wound them together. My back pressed into the plaster wall when my legs almost gave out.

The elder personification shook his head, "I know, brah. I get it. I can't ask her. I promised and a hero always keeps his promises. It would be helpful though, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah…" New York trailed off. "If she'd answer."

Even though I heard him, I couldn't stop the panic attack. It was already tearing through my chest.

Those people. All of those people. A self-loathing erupted in my chest unlike any of the bouts I had suffered before. The camps. The bombs. The battles. Due to my inaction, so many were suffering. How could I do this? How could I cause so many lives to be lost? I had to do something, right? I could stop it. I could stop it all. Unconsciously, I pushed off the wall and took a single step forward.

Then, my body froze.

_No. No. No._

I couldn't. If something went wrong…If a single factor changed…then it was possible that the Axis powers could win the war. That was the end game here. I had to remember that. All of the pain…I told Arthur that I would take the blame. Me, alone. This was all to keep the outcome the same. To keep the butterfly effect in check.

Surely I could avoid that kind of repercussion.

I was smart, right?

Everyone always said I was smart.

Was I smart enough to outwit Time itself?

"How's she holdin' up?"

John sighed and I refocused my fraying mind on the kitchen conversation. "She's not eating well." He was the one to talk. He wasn't eating either. "The nightmares are getting worse. She never tells me what they're about, but…She keeps saying that there's blood on her hands when she wakes up." That was because the blood _was_ on my hands. "It has me worried."

"She's strong," America sighed. "She can make it through this." It sounded more like he was trying to convince himself rather than stating a gospel fact. "I can see it though… in her eyes. She knows what's coming and it can't be good. Things are gonna get worse before they get better. I saw her look at me the other day…I can't describe the pain on her face, man. Before I could ask her, she ran off."

How could I stand this any longer?

Images kept flashing in my head. Emaciated bodies, hollow eyes, blood, explosions, terror unimaginable. Sinking ships. Flames. My entire soul was crumbling under the weight of it all. There had to be something I could do. I couldn't stand my own silence any longer. I had to do something.

There was a click in my mind.

I had to do _something_.

Something I hadn't considered before.

_I had to do something!_

Spinning on my heel, I quickly and quietly made my way upstairs.

I could remember the most about the United States' role in the Second World War. There was some information about the world theatre though, just enough to matter. Some of the essential facts about Britain and Russia. About Greece and Japan.

If I could get the right information to America, such as the positions of armies and what countries to save first…

If I could tell him what atrocities were happening behind enemy lines, then maybe I could actually _do_ something.

I could actually _help_ people with my knowledge.

If the outcome changed…

Well, I would just have to make sure that didn't happen, right? If I could.

I couldn't do this anymore.

It was the sensation of drowning, asphyxiating beneath the weight of my own secrets. A year of silence was driving me insane. That kind of weight. It only got worse and worse as time drew on. Shuddering, I let out a breath and closed my eyes. It was only a matter of time before I started to shatter.

Maybe this was the result of my own cowardice.

I didn't want to suffer beneath the weight of my silence any longer. I didn't want to be quiet. I didn't want any of this.

My pen scribbled across the sheet of paper, etching future histories into thin black lines. The paper was the same as I used for my anonymous letters to Britain—off-white and thick.

**May 27, 1941**

_I've come to a decision, after a year of enduring. I can't remain silent any longer. Maybe I'm selfish. I think that's all I am: selfish. I can't stand the constant pain in my chest. It always feels like I'm drowning, like I can't get enough air in my lungs. My heart is almost always racing. I can't take it anymore. I can't. Instead, I will write what I remember in this letter in hopes that it will help you in some way. Maybe I can do something to change the fate of certain people or certain nations. Maybe I can do something…_

_Admittedly, as Time winds his gnarled hands around my mind, I lose more and more of my memories. I can't even remember what my mother's cooking tastes like. I can barely remember the sound of my mother's voice. I can't remember things about my life that I knew before. My grandfather's voice has disappeared from my mind entirely._

_I think I sacrificed these things in the hope of keeping the memories of past future events. Maybe I didn't do that consciously. I don't know. I don't think I'm that selfless. I'd rather remember my mother's voice than these terrible things. I'd rather know myself rather than the terrors that occur in this war._

_Alfred understood, I think, why I kept my silence. It was the whole reason I followed him to the States._

_There is the distinct (and very real) possibility that the "bad guys" could win if_ one _aspect of this war changes. I wanted to keep silent to help the "good guys" win. That's why I kept silent. Why I kept my knowledge to myself. Why I hurt so much under the weight of it. Perhaps knowing this, Arthur would understand my motives a bit better._

_This being said, I think I may have chosen the wrong path._

_What does it matter if the good guys win while people are dying to pay the price?_

_Is that the right cost? Is it alright for people to suffer for the greater good?_

_These questions have plagued me for months. They have haunted me. They will continue to haunt me until I die. The deaths are my fault because I was too scared to speak up._

_How many die because of silence?_

_I'm sorry, but I cannot reconcile myself to that belief any longer. Not while I'm being haunted by the terrors of the future's past. I know all of the things that will come to pass. I know. The images have been carved into my memories since I was a little girl. I can see them from my history books, from moving pictures, from accounts._

_It's a waking nightmare that I live here._

_I hear_ them _in my dreams. They won't leave me alone. Sometimes, I think I'm going insane with the guilt and the fear. You'll never know about those nightmares. I'll never tell you. Don't ever ask me. It's why I can't sleep._

_Perhaps that is what I deserve for choosing the so-called "greater good."_

_Although I feel I did what_ was _right, I cannot shake the shame. I doubt that I will ever be able to. It's my punishment for being so…egoist. Perhaps someday, I will sleep soundly again. That day may not be until I'm able to return home. If that day never comes, then I hope that I can soon reconcile myself to my actions and let them be. Or perhaps those demons will let me be._

_Either way, I've decided on a new course:_

_I will list various events (and their vaguely recalled dates) to help with the battle against the Axis powers. Something may have to happen for others to occur, so_ my _history may be changed. No, it likely_ will _be changed if you choose to act on the information I give you._

_I don't understand Time. I thought I did, but maybe I was wrong. He did mention that I could help people. And I've done nothing but hide. I'm good at hiding and running. Too good at it, I think. Keeping quiet, staying out of the way. It's all I've ever done, it seems. Maybe it's something I need to work on. I need to get stronger._

_Johnny said that I'll be strong when it is required of me. When I have no other option. I suppose I won't know until I am in some hot water. Maybe when that time comes, I will have the confidence to speak up and the courage to do so._

_I don't know._

_Regardless, Alfred and Johnny, please… only share these events with those you trust and with those who_ need to know _. Consider it as classified above 'top secret.' As America has not entered the war, there is more concerning the European fronts here. I can tell you more about America's role in the war when the time comes. Until then, this is all I can give you._

_May 31, 1941 - Dublin, Ireland. Air-raid. High number of civilian casualties. The usual suspects._

_June 15(?), 1941 (I'm a little fuzzy on this date.) – Halfaya Pass nicknamed "Hell-fire pass." Do I really need to explain? Heavy losses for British forces._

_June 22, 1941 – Operation Barbarossa – Germany begins to invade Soviet Union (This invasion raises the heaviest losses in the whole war. Unless ended quickly, it will continue for a few years. Leningrad should be evacuated. Do not wait.) Warn someone._

_(Russia becomes Allied Power due to Germany's betrayal. Consider this in your plans. Russia is a good ally to have in this war.)_

Side note: _Germany is killing people. Civilians. So many that I cannot… I barely can bring myself to write of it. Hitler has set up and will set up "concentration camps" or "extermination camps." Millions upon millions have been or will be killed in this systematic genocide. Jews are primary targets as well as various other ethnic and social groups (including homosexuals, Polish and Soviet POWs, the disabled, and many more). Gassing, mostly, but also more heinous murders. This is one of the most important aspects that I can tell you of. If you can, free them and get them the hell out of Dodge as soon as possible. I know that many cannot be saved, but…You should know what is happening._

_I still cannot find the strength to bring in details regarding the horrors of Germany's Hitler's regime. Suffice to say, this massacre was (and still is) one of the worst atrocities the world has ever seen. Others will not be too far behind. Japan has committed several war crimes in China as well. I don't know enough to divulge more._

_August 22, 1941 – Leningrad will begin. If you haven't yet, get them out of there. Now._

_Moscow will be fine. They can never take Moscow because of the snow. Think of Napoleon._

_December 7, 1941 – Pearl Harbor attack. America enters the war. Massive losses. Culprit: Japan. Please, do what you can. Thousands will die, mostly navy personnel. In the morning, look toward the east. They're not ours._ (4)

_I can't remember anything else for the year of 1941. I'm certain there is more, so much more. Perhaps sometime soon I will write those upcoming calamities down for posterity's sake. Hopefully, some of the above listed events will help steer the course of this war in the right direction. Maybe I have not made a mistake._

_Please forgive me. I've been a coward and I can only hope that you both will deem me worthy of your friendship. I know I do not deserve it. I could never deserve it. Not after my selfishness._

_So much blood is on my hands. Arthur told me…He said it would be. He was right._

_God bless the USA and may He see us through this. Many more years of war are to come. It does get worse before it gets better. It will get worse, but this war will end. And wonderful things will follow. Wonderful, beautiful things can be found in even the darkest of places._

_I love you both very dearly. You are the only family that I have left. My brothers. Friends. I'm sorry. Please, stay strong. Always._

With that, I stared at the sheet of paper before folding it up and slipping it into an envelope of my stationery set. With a terribly unsteady hand, I wrote out their names.

Alfred. Johnny.

I didn't want to be around when they read it. I didn't want them look at me with hatred in their eyes. More than anything, their hate was what I feared most. In reality, America and New York had taken the place of my family. Their identities as Nation and State…At first I thought it would be strange, but they were human. Impossibly human. Even if I knew that they weren't, I viewed them as my human brothers. Immortality didn't matter to me. Not at this point. They were people. They embodied their (human) people and therefore, they were human themselves. Lifespan be damned.

This letter would make them hate me.

Quivering with that thought in mind, I gently placed the letter on my nightstand and stepped away.

Tomorrow I would give this letter to John. To New York. To America.

Tomorrow, the world would change.

With a heavy heart, I slipped into my nightgown and entered the world of my nightmares once more. The voices seemed so real that night, almost like they were in my bedroom. Almost as if they were looming over me, watching and waiting. Waiting to take me away. Foreboding swept through my chest just as I fell asleep.

In my dream, I saw a red dawn.

** Footnotes: **

(2) Seven nights of bombings at Liverpool - wide devastation.

(3) "Let It Be" - The Beatles. She's using his own words to comfort him. The Beatles were a British band in the 1960s and forward.

(4) During the Attack on Pearl Harbor, Japanese planes approach from the east so that it would appear as if American planes were incoming from the mainland. This plan worked and the planes were ignored and thought friendly. Until it was too late.

Chapter Nine: Gone

" _Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,_

_Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;"_

– "The Raven," Edgar Allen Poe 1845

In our lives, change occurs in one of two ways. It can creep in, like the way night shifts into day. Change can approach like clouds on the horizon, seeping in from the west. From my time in Kansas City, I knew how the weather could turn. One moment, clear blue skies extended as far as my eyes could see—over the plains and shallow hills. Then, suddenly, the winds would shift. Dark storm clouds would crest over the western skyline. A once beautiful and sunny day would gradually become drenched with raindrops from a low-hanging ceiling of clouds.

Sometimes, though, change can be sudden. It can strike when it's least expected. One such example was when a tornado tore through Joplin, Missouri. Just a little while south of my apartment in Kansas City. That day, life was normal. _Normal._ Seniors at the local high school were celebrating their graduation, running from party to party. Families were preparing dinners; grilling hamburgers and watching their children play outside on green lawns under the shade of old trees. Grandmothers and grandfathers enjoyed their newly acquired relaxation—a man who lost his leg in World War II and the nurse who got him back to health, holding hands as they sat in chairs they had sat in for forty years. Watching the same show that they had enjoyed since the seventies.

Then, it was upon them: the darkness of thick clouds on the horizon, lit green. Change with a twisting fate. It ripped apart homes and businesses and lives. No one expected it. No one saw it coming. No one could have known. Warnings sounded. But when change gives a warning, we often ignore it. The tornado arrived. A second siren. Too late. Screams and cries, crunching wood and the sound of a locomotive train barreling through what could have been.

Seniors never saw the day after their graduation. They never fulfilled their dreams. Children never saw their mothers again. Mothers couldn't keep their children in their arms. A former student of mine—Lydia—she never saw her brother. He drove out to get some ice cream to celebrate her graduation. They never found his body. That grandfather sits alone, both chairs lost in the rubble. Just like his wife.

The winds of change were too strong.

"They are not here, you nitwit! The house is empty. You think the awesome me would break in while those two idiots are present? Ha! I am not so stupid!" Somewhere in the haze of waking, I heard a heavily accented voice talking _loudly_. He was nearby, in my room. I was still in the realm of dreams, I guessed. There was no way anyone could get into New York's townhome. It was one of the most secure houses in the country, especially with America sleeping just down the hall. Still wanting to sleep a bit longer, I turned on my side and willed myself back to sleep. "Shut up! She's waking!"

"I am not the one being loud, _mi hermano_."

With my back to the voices, I eased my eyes open. It was clearly well-before dawn as sunlight normally filtered through the window to splash on my bed. Pale moonlight was the only illumination. Panic lurched through my chest. Nerves coiling around my heart and squeezing. For a few moments, there was complete silence in the house.

I could have been imagining the voices as part of my terrible dreams.

It wasn't as if I hadn't dreamt of being kidnapped before—for my knowledge.

My eyes slid shut again. Just my imag—

"Where'd they go in such a rush anyway?"

"Does it matter? They are gone. Now we don't have to distract them." That accent was distinctly German. It wasn't Germany, of that I was sure. I heard his voice enough in my nightmares to know. I opened my eyes to the darkness once more, watching as a shadow blocked the moonlight. The shape was human, but it looked like a monster with shadows coiling this way and that, almost as if he were swaying.

My breathing hitched and I tried to keep from panicking. If I lost my composure—If I lost control, there was no telling what could happen. They would be able to subdue me without any effort whatsoever. It was better to remain still until I could find out more about the situation.

All other thoughts flew from my mind and I focused entirely on their hushed voices.

My fingers began to tingle.

"What does _mein Bruder_ want with this woman anyway?"

"Hell if I know," the other accented voice said. There was a distinct Spanish flair to it, with his lilts and easy tone. "Something about her must be important though, considering how adamant he was that _we_ retrieve her. He didn't even trust this mission to Austria or Hungary. Nor did he trust it to any of his human subordinates. His human subordinates weren't even informed, _si?_ "

"She is just a stupid human. What can be so important about her, huh? Especially at a time like this."

Prussia and Spain.

My breathing was shallow and labored as I rolled onto my stomach. They hushed with my shift. Uneasily, I threw my right arm over the side of the bed as if it were a sleepy movement. My trembling fingertips brushed a wooden handle that lay on the frame of the bed. My mattress was just a bit too small, leaving just a few inches of space between the bedframe and the wall. Something slightly reassuring rested there.

" _New York City is pretty dangerous, actually. It's the only part about this great town that I don't like. All of the crime." Johnny was kneeling on the other side of my bed, settling something between the mattress and the frame. "A lot of murders here in New York…The mafia probably doesn't help, but they keep their business to themselves."_

 _It was the night after a break-in. The two of us, New York and I, had been out at the picture show and arrived home to find the front window shattered. After that, Johnny had insisted that there be a weapon_ somewhere _in my room. Said that it was just for the sake of security._

" _You can reach it from bed. Just in case, right?"_

" _Dude," Alfred sighed from the doorway. I glanced over to him and smiled. He had raced in from Washington when he heard news of the robbery, even though we really didn't know what was taken. That morning he had been a nervous wreck. It seemed that his panic-mode had subsided with a few snacks from downstairs—well more like the whole pie I had baked on Sunday. "You gonna teach her how to handle a gun now, Johnny-my-man? I suggested it at Thanksgiving, remember?"_

" _Hell no, bro." Johnny laughed. I had long since gotten over the anachronistic language of Hetalia. He held up a baseball bat and grinned. "She can just beat the hell out of anyone that tries to break in. Admit it, I'm a genius. Yep, I'm the Master! Besides, Shelly couldn't shoot anyone."_

_He was probably right. I didn't like the thought of inflicting lasting damage on anyone. A broken nose or a black eye was easily fixable and survivable. A well-aimed gunshot could instantly kill a man._

_I had enough blood on my hands without making it literal._

" _Yeah sure, you're a master of security…" America sighed, shaking his head. Even though he didn't know it, his sarcasm was right on the money. Of anywhere in the United States, New York was the worst when it came to international security—_ especially _during the forties. German spies existed within the city limits, however much New York wanted to deny it. (And deny it, he often did.) "You sure you can handle that bat, Shelly? I could get you a knife or something."_

" _I played softball when I was a little girl," I nodded. "I can_ swing _at the very least."_

_John snorted, "She won't ever have to use it. This is just a precaution. I'm not gonna let anyone get near her."_

" _Let's hope that's the case," Alfred frowned and moved from the doorway. There was a warning in there, hidden under his chipper smile. "C'mon, Shells! I'm takin' you to Central Park. An annoying little brother told me that you haven't been yet!" A smile broke on my face. John motioned for me to go and I jumped up from my seat and followed after the Nation. "C'mon, bro!"_

" _I'm coming, I'm coming." John sighed and shifted my bed back into place. His arm was slung around my shoulders and we made our way downstairs. "Don't forget where that thing is, Shelly."_

My fingers closed over the cool wood handle of the baseball bat. I was holding it in a death grip, terrified that if I released it for a single second, they would strike. It was the only bit of security I had left. Fear convulsed within me, writhing in my stomach like a worm. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn't actually _fight_ these Nations, could I? They would overpower me within seconds. Even if they weren't as physically strong as America (who was?), they would still be enough to overtake a simple human female. Besides, I wasn't _anywhere near_ physically fit. I hadn't really exercised since arriving in _Hetalia_ and I was considerably thinner than I had been upon arrival.

And they said that the house was empty, didn't they?

How could that be?

Where did Alfred and Johnny go?

Calm, calm.

I had to stay calm.

"So," Prussia drawled. Screwing my eyes shut, I tried to sense where they could be standing in my room. It sounded as if Prussia were at the end of my bed, perhaps leaning against the wall. Spain was near the window, blocking the light of the moon. That left the door wide open. "I assume you are going to do the dirty work, yes?"

"Why me? It is your brother who wants her, _amigo_. I am simply along for the ride."

Prussia snorted and I felt someone bump my bed from the end.

I was right about where he was. I shifted and acted to be asleep. My left hand creeped down under the sheets and I grasped the fabric there. It looked like a normal sleep-driven move. Still, I couldn't keep up that ruse much longer. What I really needed was a plan.

"You have the criminal background, Antonio."

"And you do not?" Spain chuckled lightly. "Where is that virtue of—how do you say— 'suck it up?'"

" _Tapferkeit ohne Wehleidigkeit_ is not this 'suck it up.'" the other voice muttered. "Pain in my ass for over a hundred years now. Like I need those stupid ass rules. I am the Awesome Prussia. I _wrote_ the rules. I can break them if I want to!"

Antonio shushed him and the room went silent.

I would have to chance a fight.

That was the conclusion I arrived to. There was no way that I would _convince_ them not to kill or kidnap me. As Nations, they weren't held to the same standards as humans. I knew that. They could probably kill me without any second thoughts. My grip on the bat grew tighter.

Had I relied too heavily on New York and America?

Yes, I had.

I should have just run off to some secluded corner of the globe. I should have just hidden myself and run off when I first arrived. It wasn't like I didn't contemplate the idea of choosing some random American town to crash in until the war blew over. It would have been a lonely existence—far more lonely than my first few months. Here, I had Johnny and Alfred. If I had gone off on my own, I would have had to start anew. A woman alone in this time was dangerous.

None of my options had been great, I realized.

Where had my protectors gone? How could this be happening? These thoughts were rampant in my mind even as I shoved them away. They weren't going to save me in this situation.

_Remember to breathe._

There were no princes in shining armor, no Superman to sweep and rescue me.

No character to save the day.

No New York.

No America.

No one was going to save me.

So I needed to save myself.

In one swift motion, with my left hand grasping the sheet, I threw it from my legs and shifted out of the bed. I swiftly stumbled around and faced them, my nightgown falling around my ankles. The heavy baseball bat was held between my two hands, ready to be swung. The two men gave stunned gasps as I slipped into a defensive stance, bat hocked back over my shoulder as if preparing to hit a ball.

Even in that darkness, I could see the shock on their faces.

"What—WHAT THE HOLY FREAKIN' AWESOME HELL?" The taller of the two figures shouted, pointing in my direction. "HOW—WHAT—"

"Hello there, _señorita_." The shorter man stated pleasantly. His hands rose up in a placating motion. I took a cautionary step to the right, angling for the door. I noticed a flash in his eyes as his brows pulled down. My muscles stilled. Spain was far more dangerous than he seemed in the show. A derisive snort sounded in my mind. So what else was new? "Then you _were_ awake."

"What the heck? You knew she was awake?"

Spain shrugged and looked toward his gaping friend. I took that momentary distraction and moved even closer to the door. "You should not do that _mujer_ ," Spain warned. I stopped again, tensing. "We have been _amigos_ for years, my dear Gilbert. No one can sleep through your shouting. The only ones who can are Ludwig and Elizabeta. One or both would just knock you out and continue sleeping."

His gaze turned back to me and he smiled. It was the thinnest and most unrealistic grin I had seen in years. Even more than America.

I knew his history well enough to know that his carefree persona was just a mask. It was almost insulting. At least America didn't bother with the mask all of the time. He dropped it in these serious situations. It seemed that Spain liked to remain pleasant even at the most…inappropriate of times.

"I expect you understand the situation," he gestured toward Prussia, who pushed off the wall.

"I understand that you're here to abduct me," I hated skating around issues. And I really didn't have the time to waste beating around the bush. I had to pretend to be ignorant of my own knowledge. They wanted me for that, surely. Or, at least, Germany wanted my knowledge. These two didn't know _why_ they had been ordered for my retrieval. "Why?"

"What's this 'why,' huh? You don't get to ask _why_! You're being kidnapped!" Prussia snorted and took a few rapid steps forward. "No stupid questions."

_There's no such thing as a stupid question._

Just before he came within range of my bat, Spain grabbed his arm and wrenched him to a halt. "Careful," he murmured. "She has that light in her eyes, like a wounded animal ready to strike."

"More like a cornered one," I bit back. "I'm not wounded, but _you_ will be. Come within four feet of me and I'll bash your head in." My warning was serious and dark. Although I didn't want to harm anyone (and wouldn't have in normal circumstances), I knew that they were immortal. Any damage that I caused them would eventually be healed, whenever I was well-away and in a safe location. "Now, tell me what you want with me."

"Can't say," Prussia shrugged. "You look particularly unawesome, so I don't know why _mein_ _Bruder_ wants you so bad. Still, can't ignore orders."

"Then," I took a step back into the open hallway. My gaze shifted toward Alfred's room door. It was wide open as usual. Alfred never closed doors. There was no one inside. I trembled for a moment before refocusing. "Do yourselves a favor and declare this mission a failure. I wish neither of you any ill will, so… _please_ …just go away." I didn't lower the weapon, but I allowed a pleading tone to enter my voice.

And I was pleading.

I was desperate.

My chances of escaping this were slim to none.

And, what was worse, I knew it.

Prussia and Spain, they weren't bad men. I knew they weren't. Prussia was acting on his brother's orders and, likely under Hitler's command. It wasn't as if he had any choice in this. From what I had overheard, he didn't want this mission any more than Spain. And the Spaniard was equally blameless in this situation. He was under the shadow-government of Nazi Germany as well. Both were under the Axis command and both had little choices regarding their actions. Still, I could extend that sort of option to them. Leave or get injured.

Ha, as if I didn't know that they could easily kill me.

Prussia snorted and then gave a peal of obnoxious laughter. Although Spain didn't flinch with the sound, I did. "You think that you can harm us, pathetic human?" I forced a confused expression onto my face, becoming quite used to playing the uninformed human. His mouth dropped open and he gawked. "WHAT? You…You do not know? KESESE! This is priceless. America's little girlfriend does not know _what_ he is!"

Twitching at the implication of romance between Alfred and me, I readied myself for whatever actions Spain was about to make. He was using Prussia as a distraction.

In a single swift movement, he was attacking. His fist made a bone-crunching connection with my left cheek. The pain was immense and blinding. Whiteness overtook my vision for a few moments as I stumbled down the hallway. I kept my firm grip on the baseball bat though. And I knew he was approaching, rushing to close his arms around me. To capture me. To take me away. To torture me for everything I knew. I knew that he was coming. Gasping in a breath, I reaffirmed my hold on the bat and swung it around.

At first, I wasn't sure if I would hit anything. With my wild swing, there was a possibility that Spain went totally missed by the attack.

Then, the Nation dropped to the floor at my feet.

Blood spotted the bat and the wall.

Everything stopped. Feeling faded from my limbs and my chest. I couldn't understand anything. I couldn't hear the sound of his body falling to the floor nor the stunned gasp that Prussia inhaled.

There it was. The blood I kept seeing in my dreams and in my half-crazed hallucinations. I shuddered and shook, dropping the bat as if it were a hot iron. It clattered to the wood floor. It scalded my hands with the warm blood that coated its tip. Spain was still on the ground, unmoving. How had I hit him? How could I have done so much damage? He was so still and, though I couldn't see his face, I knew that there was blood under his curly brown mop of hair.

Blood. Red.

A rattling breath shook me as I lifted my wide eyes to the other attacker.

" _What_ have you done, stupid woman?" Prussia screeched and started toward me, stumbling over Spain's sprawled form. I didn't miss the look of worry that crossed over his unbelievably pale features. There was still darkness all around, but I could make out his true concern for his comrade and friend. My gaze flickered downward and I sucked in a breath.

This…This…How could I have—

How could I...How...

_Blood. Real blood._

No. I couldn't have- It was never supposed to...

Giving in to my fear, I turned from the scene and ran as fast as I could for Johnny's room at the end of the hall. The stairs were blocked from my access by Antonio's prone body and I had little choice but to seek sanctuary in New York's bedroom.

_Lock the door._

I threw the door shut behind me, locking it as quickly as possible. Somewhere in the haze of my panic, I wondered where my dearest protector had gone. Was he hurt somewhere? Worry and fear coursed through my veins, making them seem to tingle with anticipation. _Adrenaline_. In an absent-minded move, I turned on the overhead lamp with a quick motion of my right hand. My eyes flickered around the now-brightly lit room. His bed sheets were strewn around and I could see signs of his hurry to leave. His fedora was still sitting on his bedside table sitting on a Bible and the latest edition of the New York Times.

Hope budded within me. Something _must_ have come up. He and Alfred must have gone somewhere in a rush. That would explain their absence.

They were safe.

"Come out, you _zicke_!" I didn't know what that meant, but it couldn't have been flattering. My worry for Alfred and Johnny faded away. They were safe from Prussia and Spain. I couldn't waste time. It was my would-be kidnappers that I had to escape. Prussia's hard pounds on the door seemed to make the entire building shake.

The neighbors had to be hearing this. They would call the police.

I couldn't let them capture me.

I _wouldn't_ let them capture me.

Not over my dead body.

My gaze shifted between Johnny's nightstand—where I knew his gun was stored—to his window.

Prussia had started to kick the door and I knew I only had mere moments to make a decision.

I flew across the room and hoisted the wooden frame of his window up. The paint chips tore at the skin of my palms as I lurched outside onto the fire escape. The unused metal creaked underneath my weight.

The door inside my home was kicked so hard that it flew clear off of its hinges and clattered at the end of the bed. In the light, I could see Prussia clearly. The darkness that had once shrouded the Nation was rent away and I saw him for all of his frightening glory.

Red eyes and snow-white hair. And a wrathful expression. He growled at the sight of the empty room until he saw me on the fire escape. As soon as our gazes connected, I gasped and flung myself down the first set of stairs. The sensitive soles of my feet were cut and sliced on the way down. I tried to keep a handle on the pain. It was a second thought, but I knew I was bleeding from both my hands and my feet. The paint chips and metal grating had given me many tiny cuts and my jaw was aching from Spain's punch.

My silk nightgown fluttered in the warm breeze as I reached the end of the escape. I looked upward, to where Prussia was clambering out of the window above, cursing in so many ways that I didn't bother to keep up. "Yo, crazy bitch! Slow down!"

"Like hell," I muttered and glanced down. Spinning, I carefully started down the final ladder to reach the alley below. My feet touched the bricks, throbbing terribly from the cuts and the uncomfortable journey down the ladder. For a single moment I glanced up to see Prussia already at the crest of the ladder. I ran for the opening of the alley. As I ran, I could feel my heart thundering in my chest.

I had to escape.

I had to get away.

Get away.

I had to.

I _had_ to.

If I didn't…Well, I couldn't say if I was strong enough to hold up under whatever information extraction tactics Germany had planned.

I was just a simple history professor. My life used to be normal. Why was this happening to me?

As I barreled around the side of the building, I slammed into a hard surface and fell backward, sprawling onto the pavement. It was a person and, in my panicked state, I began to struggle away in the moonlight. I crab-walked backward, an awkward movement in my nightdress, and I didn't even bother to look up and see who I had run into. My palms continued to rip as they were dragged against the concrete of the sidewalk.

I had to get away.

Get away—

"What— _Michelle?_ " My wide eyes looked up at the familiar face. It was someone I never expected to see at this early hour, never expected to see during the most terrifying of times. Blue eyes shone in the moonlight. "What's happening? Why are you—"

Clambering to my feet, I rushed to Delaware and grabbed his shoulders. He jolted in surprise, not used to such close contact. "They're here. They're—They're here and they've come for me. We have to run. You have to run. Now."

His brows rose and he lifted his blue eyes from my face. His chin set in a clear 'Jones' expression: determination and with slight antagonism. Out of the quiet Delaware, I never expected to see such a look. It was _Alfred_ through and through. With his jaw set, he pulled me behind him and crossed his arms in a clear effort to appear intimidating. "You're pretty far from home, Gilbert."

"So are you, _State_!" Prussia said in a low tone as he prowled closer. "Why don't you go back to whatever track of land you crawled out of? Oh, that's right! Your land is smaller than my little thumbnail! KESEKESE! Nobody can crawl out of a tiny thumbnail!"

If the situation weren't so serious, I might've palmed my forehead. His insults were pathetic.

Delaware took the insult in stride though, glancing uncertainly to me. Clearly, he was concerned that I knew the truth about the States and Nations. He didn't let his unease at my 'knowledge' affect the situation though. He shifted, "What do you want then?"

"We came for the girl. We did not want to engage in a struggle," a heavily accent voice said from behind us. I turned and gasped at the sight of Spain. His pleasant face was covered in blood from the wound I had given him. My stomach churned at the sight. "Though, _señore_ , if you continue to stand in our way, I cannot promise that no harm will come to you." With that said, he gently withdrew a small pistol from underneath his jacket. Prussia mirrored the movement, withdrawing his own weapon. " _Señorita_ Daniels, if you will…"

Delaware grabbed my wrist and pulled me behind him again, backing out into the deserted street. "I'll distract them," his deep voice whispered. "When I do, you need to run. Contact Alfred and John. They're in Norfolk. Tell them—tell them—" My free hand went to grip his white button-down shirt. He continued to move me back behind him and focused his attention on the two assailants. He released my wrist. "So…you two are doing Ludwig's dirty work now. I should have guessed as much. What would he want with a dame from New York City, eh?"

Spain shrugged, " _No sé_."

"As the Awesome Prussia, I do _not_ work for _mein Bruder_! And I don't answer the questions of pathetic little States!" His voice was extremely grating, I realized numbly as we stopped moving. We stood at the center of the street while both Prussia and Spain moved to the center about thirty feet away. I noticed Prussia glancing toward his injured friend, who gave a small shake of his head. He was alright.

"Sure, sure." Delaware waved the Nation off. "It's not like you were absorbed or anything." The slight wind that had been blow eased to a stop. Everything seemed deathly still. "No, that's not quite what happened, is it?" My muscles tensed.

 _This_ was how he planned to distract them? By pissing Prussia off? Then what? Did he plan on battling with two Nations on his own? Even _I_ could see the tactical faults in that plan. No, I couldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't allow Delaware to be harmed because he was protecting me.

"Prussia was _dissolved_ ," I supplied quietly.

Johnny's brother turned to me with wide eyes. Yes, I wasn't going to just stand by and watch as he tempted the Nation. I was going to stand up and help him. No matter how scared I was. I wasn't going to cower away. "What are you do—"

"Pissed off people don't focus well," I answered in a whisper. My voice rose so that both approaching Nations could hear me. "Yeah, Prussia was dissolved some thirty years ago, right? It fell in a _single night_." Prussia stopped and stared at me. There was a flash of something—pain—in his blood-red eyes. I shivered. Just a bit more. "The German Empire rose from the ashes. While Prussia dissolved away. It's actually rather sad."

Delaware was on the ground in the next instant. For a few moments, I didn't know what had happened. In the blink of an eye, he was gone from my peripheral vision. _Crack_. My gaze swept around and then, on instinct, I glanced downward. Out of fear, I looked over to the two motionless Nations. What I was seeing couldn't be true. This was a show. A television series. It couldn't be true. Maybe I would wake up and all of this would be a nightmare. Maybe I would wake up and hand New York that letter. Or Alfred. Or maybe I would be back at home. With my mother and siblings. _This couldn't be happening. Not to me._

That's what we always think, right? It won't happen to me. It can't happen to me. It won't be me.

Both Nations held their guns aloft.

Only one was smoking, held by a shivering German.

"For a State, he's fast." Spain observed in a low tone.

Fear lurched through my chest as I fell to my knees. My hands fluttered around Delaware's wound. Blood was gushing past my fingers as I pressed into his abdomen. I couldn't think. I could barely draw a breath, scared that if I did...Scared that if one thing went wrong... Tears welled up in my eyes as I leaned over him. His eyes were wide, staring up at the night sky.

This was my fault.

My fault.

 _My fault_.

"You'll be alright! You'll be alright! I'm—I'm so sorry! This is my fault! I shouldn't—I shouldn't have—" I pressed into the wound more to staunch the bleeding. The real feeling of blood on my hands made bile rise in my throat.

This couldn't be happening.

It was sticky, warm.

Blood on my hands.

Not a hallucination. Real blood.

His mouth opened to speak, but he instead coughed. I let out a sob and turned him quickly to his side, not caring that a shadow had come over us. My quivering hands went to brush the blond hair from his face, leaving red streaks along the skin beneath.

He looked too much like Alfred.

The man who had taken the bullet…He was family.

My family. Part of my new family. Alfred's. Johnny's.

"K-Keep breathing! Hold on! G-George, please hold on! You're gonna be okay. You'll be okay. "

I should have just run when he told me to. I shouldn't have tried to be some hero I wasn't. He told me to run and I brought this upon him because…because of my own stupidity and arrogance. I thought I could help him. And now, he was bleeding out on one of New York's streets.

"We—are—" He tried, reaching up to grab the hem of my nightgown. It was painted red. I froze, looking into his eyes. They were worried—not for himself, but for me. Delaware still had a determined glint there. Determined to protect me, a citizen of his Nation. To protect someone who had become part of his family. I grabbed his bloody hand and held it tight. "Nations. N-Nations…We're St-States. R-Run."

My head shook before a strong hand took hold of my upper arm. Gasping, I looked around to come face-to-face with Prussia. "It sucks to see someone die, doesn't it?" Desperately, I tried to jerk my arm away, but his grip tightened and he yanked me violently to my feet. I was forced to let go of Delaware's hand, which tried to hold on as long as possible. When he had to let go, I stumbled to the side and was wrenched upright. "If you don't mind, _Delaware_ , I'll just take this stupid bitch off your hands. She has cost you enough tonight."

"B-Bastard…" the State muttered through the blood as he struggled to sit up. A heavy boot came to rest on his shoulder and forced him back onto the ground as he groaned painfully under the weight. The sheer agony on his face made my struggle renew, slamming a desperate fist into Prussia's chest. The Nation grunted and shook me again, making me lose my breath. "M-Michelle…" Spain's boot pressed harder and the State gasped. "Mich—"

"Stop! Stop it! Leave him alone!" Prussia cursed when I slammed my heel down onto his toes. I was lucky that he didn't have steel-toe boots or that would have been a stupid idea. His grip became even harsher, bruising my arm with the sheer force of it. All Nations were strong. The thought was a fleeting one. "Stop hurting him!"

"Shut her up, _amigo_. We need to leave before the authorities are called," Spain hissed, "if they haven't been already." The pleasant expression had melted away into an emotionless charade.

Seeing Delaware looking up at me, I continued to struggle. It was a futile effort I knew, but that didn't make my movements any less fierce. In swift action, the albino wrapped his right arm around my throat and tightened it, pulling me to his chest. There was truly no escaping in his choke hold. It was over. I could barely breathe, but I couldn't give up yet. I had to keep trying, keep fighting. I pulled frantically at his arm. I clawed and yanked, twisting and moving as much as I could.

Giving a triumphant laugh, Prussia pulled something white from his jacket pocket. Knowing what was about to happen and knowing that I wasn't going to somehow miraculously escape; I stopped struggling and looked down onto the fearful face of the First State. He stared back up at me with wide, anxious blue eyes.

_Alfred's eyes._

Though I know he was concerned for me on some level, I also knew that it was the information I held that made me _valuable_. It made me a security risk. There was a double concern to my abduction. Me and my knowledge. The latter was far more important and I had to do something to give him some reassurance.

Somehow, I found my voice and was able to speak in a hurried whisper. Both Nations could hear me, but it felt extremely private—as if the State and I were alone on that moonlit street in Brooklyn. I was unconscious of the tears escaped my eyes and ran down my cheeks.

This was the last chance I had.

The last chance.

_Last words._

It was possible that beyond this moment…I would never see the United States again. I would never see home again. Fate had come for me. I knew I couldn't escape it long, but I had hoped...

"My-My creed is your Creed," I said hurriedly. "I promise to uphold it, especially the last line. Tell Al and J-John that I lo—" The white cloth was pressed over my mouth and the arm was tightened to the point that I had to look upward to keep breathing. I could hear the sounds of Delaware weakly trying to free himself from the pressure of Spain's foot. A bitter taste entered my mouth as everything began to go numb. The stars began to fade and so did Delaware's movements.

He was my only connection to the life I had built in the _Hetalia_ universe.

A year of adjusting and it was disappearing into unconsciousness.

In the twilight of that oblivion, I felt myself being lifted from the ground like a sack of potatoes into a sort of fireman's carry (1). It was, after all, the most practical way to carry an unconscious person. I was too weak to fight and my sight was going quickly. Blackness was creeping into my vision. There was someone with white hair and haunting red eyes holding me, glaring over at my face. Someone was speaking, various tongues and various volumes.

"You bas-bastards! Let— her go…"

"How will you stop us, _worthless State_? You think that you can take on the Awesome Me? Well, you can just suck it. We're taking this bitch and we're getting out of this stupid country."

Darkness wrapped around and I could see nothing.

"Perhaps you should sleep for a while, _si_? Take a little _siesta_ …" There was a pained yowl before everything went silent. I could feel my heart thundering at the sound. I wanted to help whoever it was. They needed my help. They needed me. I couldn't though.

I was weak.

And I was afraid.

Really afraid.

Alfred. Johnny.

_No light._

My family.

My home.

 _Gone_.

**Brooklyn Hospital Center— May 28, 1941 6:43 PM EST**

The room was silent. It was a poignant stillness, speaking volumes of the situation. Tenseness lingered in the air, so thick that it seemed noise simply couldn't travel through it. A man stepped into the small room and took in the sight before him, seeming to break under the weight of the pressure. He rushed to the bedside and grabbed the patient's hand.

"George," the dirty blond murmured. "George, buddy… _Please_ …" His voice grew thicker and thicker with emotion. Crying was weakness and he wasn't weak. He wouldn't be weak. "Delaware! Delaware! WAKE UP, DAMN IT!"

Another figure entered the room, walking to stand behind the frantic Nation. "America, he'll be alright. Please calm down."

"He has to be alright," the Nation nodded. "There's no way he can't be, right? Right? C'mon New York! Tell me I'm right! Delaware's always been so cautious! He'll wake up and go back to being silent all the time, right? Chyeah…That's gotta be it. He'll be fightin' fit by tomorrow."

New York grimaced, grasping at America's tense shoulders. "I don't know, man. They said that the wound was serious. It might be a few days before he wakes up, if that. Said something about his colon being nicked by the bullet…There's a high risk of infection. He's lucky he can't die." John sighed and walked over to the hospital room window, looking out onto the city. It was full of life, but it all seemed very distant. "I called the others."

" _All_ of them?" America questioned, settling back into the chair. He looked tired, run down from the long night and the stress. "You remembered to call North Dakota?"

New York shrugged, eyes trained on the horizon. The sun was setting on a very long and very terrible day. The Allies had evacuated Crete, the last chance of saving Greece. As if that wasn't bad enough, the whole night was spent trying to figure out _where in the world_ Arthur was. After hours of checking different Navy ships, they finally found him—lost among his sailors. Turned out, he had been helping on the island until the early morning hours. It had been a complete disaster. Arthur was the last to board the ship, leaving thousands of his men behind to be captured or killed. New York could only imagine how that felt.

They hadn't arrived back in the City until the afternoon, only to find out that Delaware was in the hospital. Shot in front of New York's townhome in Brooklyn Heights. The blood was still on the pavement. "I started the phone tree. Someone will tell the Dakotas… eventually." His green eyes turned to his weary Nation and he frowned, "She's gone, Alfred."

America glanced up, eyes wide. "Who? Lydia? She's been staying with Denny, right?"

"Not South Dakota," New York shook his head. "Lydia's actually _North_ Dakota, I think. Maybe. She's been staying with—No, that's beside the point. She's gone, Alfred. She—"

"Well, Mary was—"

"Not _Washington,_ Alfred!"

Silence fell over the hospital room once more. Alfred's eyes flashed between George's prone body and John's anxious expression before he shot to his feet. Anger was apparent on his face, twisting his normally grinning features into a rage-filled expression that would frighten most of the world's Nations. "What? Since when? What _the hell_ happened? Why wasn't I told?"

"She's gone, Al. She's—She…" John shook his head and ran a hand over his face. His gaze moved back toward the city outside of the window. Still marching on. New York City would always march on, even without him there to beat the drums. Not that he would ever leave. He couldn't. One of his hands slipped into the pocket of gray jacket, gripping the folded sheet of paper that rested inside. It crumpled underneath his anger and grief. "M-Michelle...She was...She was abducted last night." America stared with wide eyes, uncomprehending. "They've—they've taken her." He shook with fury and looked back around to his Nation. "They've taken her, Alfred! America, Michelle's gone."

** Footnotes: **

(1) A fireman's carry pulls an arm over one shoulder and then a leg over the other, effectively draping the unconscious person over the shoulders. It distributes the dead-weight evenly so that the body is more easily manageable. It's the way soldiers carry the wounded off the battle field. I thought it was more realistic and practical than "bridal style."


	10. 1940

_Let not the defeatists tell us that it is too late. It will never be earlier. Tomorrow will be later than today. –_ Franklin Delano Roosevelt, 1940

It seemed surreal. For a moment, I could forget everything to just indulge in the sights and sounds around me. The war seemed so far away that night in November. New York City was on a high, still buzzing with the third-term reelection of Franklin Delano Roosevelt. There were parties and hoopla and circumstance. New York City was filled with energy, pulsing with it as swing music drifted through the streets. Clarinets, drums, and trumpets.

When I was home (in 2015), I never would have thought I would someday _cast a_ _vote_ in the 1940 Presidential Election.

Any history buff would have fainted at the very idea.

I had studied it in a graduate class. I knew some of the quotes from the inaugural address by heart. When I displayed this talent in one class I was teaching, the students laughed and shook their heads. "You memorized that?" they questioned.

Of course I did. It didn't seem all that strange to me, but they just laughed harder.

Supposedly, I had "no life."

My students always thought I was pathetic for how much I knew about the World Wars, about history. Like I had nothing better to do. Perhaps my generally disheveled appearance didn't help matters any. Although I tried to dress well, I always had bags around my eyes and there was almost always an air of nervous energy around me. My hair was never quite in place.

That nervous energy never faded, even in the past.

Even after months in this fictional history, I was still harried. And it was getting worse.

Slowly, I was becoming more and more anxious. My hair was growing frizzier and frizzier from my hands pulling at the strands. The stress of, well, _everything_ kept me terribly edgy at almost all times.

It was only these small pleasures that allowed for my normally racing heart to calm for a few hours.

Voting in _the fictional world of Hetalia_ in the 1940 election? The whole affair seemed even more impossible.

After a while though, reality just…settled. I came to realize that the world I was in was, indeed, real.

And I came to accept it.

I was slowly coming to view the world as an actual "world" rather than a "fictional place." It was no longer something I expected to be awakened from, like some night terror or bought of psychosis. I just accepted my fate as this, as this new reality became my reality.

It reminded me a bit of how I learned to accept that my father was never coming home. That sort of quiet shift into acceptance. Once enough time had passed, it just wasn't strange anymore.

Despite the utter "awesomeness" of the idea, such a _concept_ was difficult to grapple with: entering a foreign world. Even as I thought it over from the dark nights in New York's house, I still couldn't get over the sheer impossibility of what I had gone through. A new world, a new reality, dictated by the rules of fiction. It was horribly familiar and yet terrifyingly foreign.

In the fan fictions I read when I was younger, such things seemed rather easy to grasp.

' _Oh? I'm in the world of Hetalia. Huh, well this is cool! Let me go irritate the Nations.'_

If not that reaction, then things were a bit more serious: _'How in the world do I get home? Nations of the world unite! Help me find a way home!'_ _'It looks like I can have some fun with pairings and have sexy-time with the Nations while I'm at it.'_

In real life, life just wasn't that…easy.

Honestly, I wished it was. How desperately wished it was!

If it were _that_ easy to accept, then I would have been saved many (really painful) headaches.

And a lot of tears.

A whole lot of tears.

In all honesty, I didn't have much contact with Nations in the five months I had been in "Hetalia." I met Britain and America, yeah. For the first three days of my stay in this world…

Certainly, I saw John Jay Jones. Some. I was his roommate, after all. And he was, by all technicalities, a Nation-esque being. Although I really didn't understand the hierarchy of Nations and States, I knew that there was a difference between the two. It stood to reason, at least.

Still, if we were talking about the actual _stars_ of the show—America, Britain, and the others—then it was safe to say that I had little-to-no contact with them at all. America had visited three times in the past five months. Every time, he would put on this unbelievably happy and carefree façade. He would stay for a day and then leave again.

Personally, I thought that adjusting to the concept of "living in fiction" would be the most difficult aspect of my life.

I'm mature enough to acknowledge that I thought wrong.

Even if I had my doctorate in history, I didn't expect that I would ever have to _live_ it.

Reading about the past in a text book does not compare to actually living the history. Such as the fact that I was extremely well-versed in the gender roles of the 1940s. Although it was not the topic of my dissertation, it was the focus of a good doctoral student friend of mine, who spent hours telling me of the sufferings women had to deal with in the time period. That information was useful, given my situation.

Funny how little irritations such as Lisa's obsessive spouting of gender studies had become a part of my everyday life.

Wearing dresses or skirts every day?

Stockings and hose every day?

Heels _every day_?

Thank the Good Lord I didn't have to wear make-up or I would've snapped within the first few weeks.

Though, my boss had told me that if I "dolled-up" I could earn some extra dough. Wretch.

In 2015, I didn't mind wearing a skirt every now and then. When I felt like it. When I wanted to be feminine and maybe a little flirty. Same went for tights or heels.

In 1940, it was considered reprehensible for a woman to be wearing pants outside of the factories. It was also considered lewd if a woman strutted around without the proper stockings or the proper shoes.

Even such a small thing as fashion was a huge issue to contend with. I was used to jeans and t-shirts and bare skin. I was used to tank tops and short shorts. I was used to a different world.

"You're really self-conscious, aren't you?" John questioned.

Turning on my patent-leather heel, I glanced toward the young man—or old State (what have you). He grinned, gesturing toward my suit. His brow rose and he chuckled at my uncomfortable expression. The gray suit was looser than when I first donned it in June.

Food hadn't been appealing for months and I only ate what I had to. Brushing a hand down the front, I jerked down on the jacket hem. "Not self-conscious," I shook my head and looked ahead in the line.

He shifted by my side, "Is that why you keep straightening your jacket like that? First time to the picture show, doll face?"

"In this decade? Yes." I muttered in a low tone. The line continued forward.

So many people. We were lucky to get a seat on opening night. My gaze flashed to the various faces around me. The crowd was giddy and exuberant. Despite the chill in the November air, the bright lights and smiling faces made the atmosphere seem warmer and charged with energy. A few women were giggling several feet away while their men laughed loudly. They were clearly a little tipsy from their earlier evening escapades.

"It's a good thing I know a few people," John stated with a smirk. "I could've never gotten these tickets if I didn't know…Well, if I didn't know _important_ people." He chuckled amusedly, looking around at his citizens. It seemed to ease his tension somewhat to see such vibrant energy. "Nice what they're doing, huh? Helping out the Brits like this."

My head nodded. I never knew that Disney had donated all of the proceeds from opening night to support the British War Relief Fund. It was one of those forgotten facts, lost during the hectic future events.

Britain was being bombed almost daily; terrorist attacks against civilian-populated towns and villages. Largely, it was London, but also Southhampton and Manchester. All over Britain.

That was the whole reason I wanted to attend the premier of _Fantasia._

As soon as I knew that money would be going to Britain (to Arthur) I knew I had to go.

If for no other reason than to support him.

It just so happened that John had arrived home that very night with tickets to the premier citing his 'friends in high places.' Tickets had been notorious for selling out.

"Are you excited?"

I turned to him and forced a smile, "Of course. I'm very excited. Thank you for this."

His lips pressed together and he ran a hand through his blond hair. There was a moment of consideration before he sighed, "You're not excited. If you were, you'd be giggling like those girls over there."

My eyes flickered over to the obnoxiously laughing young women. He expected me to behave like them? They were obviously debutantes, hair all done up in pin curls and cleanly pressed dresses with beautiful fur coats. Their heels were clacking on the concrete with every shift in their stances as they leaned into their upstanding dates.

He expected me to be like _that?_

I pressed my lips together and gave a shuddering giggle. My head shook.

"You're not exactly a doll, are ya?"

I didn't know what to say to that except: "No. I'm not."

Chuckling again at my disgusted expression, the personification of New York leaned against the wall of the theater building. Soon the doors would open, but until then we were stationary. "So you're not the pretty dame you keep pretending to be. Color me surprised. I thought you were all mild manners and good upbringing."

My hackles rose at that jab. I was perfectly well-raised. My mother and family did perfectly fine with my upbringing. Making a dig like that was like saying that my family was of bad stock. My back straightened and I glared at him. "Excuse me?"

He gestured around at the various beautiful examples of the mid-century. "All of these girls are happy to smile and giggle and fawn over their dates. You're just scowling at the pavement and muttering under your breath about your clothes."

How the hell could he compare _me_ to these girls?

There was no comparison.

They were gorgeous, stunning images of the upper-class 1940s society I had always imagined from the black and white photographs of the time. Fur coats and done-up hair. Their make-up was painted on with an undeniable precision— red lips, pale faces. They held themselves as ladies of their ilk should: straight back and proud shoulders.

They giggled because they could. They had that ability and that freedom.

They didn't have any weights holding them down, blissfully unaware. Perhaps who was loving who and how they would nab the man of their dreams. Those were major concerns.

They didn't worry yet over whether or not their man would go to war. Or if they would make it one day or if they would somehow attend college.

These were all stereotypes I knew, but the stereotypes of the time existed for a reason.

Me?

It was like comparing diamonds and rocks. They were shining gems and I was just a stone.

My shoulders were hunched over and I kept my eyes on the ground most of the time. Why? Because it was easier than looking ahead. It was easier than engaging anyone in conversation. Conversations led to questions that I couldn't answer.

'Where're you from? Where were you educated? Where's your family?' I didn't pay attention, in one ear and out the other.

The comforts of familiarity had disappeared with my world and I was now in an unfamiliar place and with that came an ever-waning confidence. The only times that I held some self-worth was in front of my students and even then I was uneasy.

Up until this point, too, _John_ had paid little attention to me. My newness had worn off after the first couple weeks and after that I was left on my own.

I worked for a living. I didn't indulge in high priced items, even back when I was making a decent wage. My money went to food and some basic necessities.

For the months of my residence in New York, he had not eaten with me, arriving home late at night from wherever he was in the city. Parties, work? Sometimes I tried to figure out what he had been doing, but eventually I gave up and just lived (was it really living?) my own life separate from New York's.

There was a war happening all around, people dying every second. People suffering due to my refusal to talk and give information. That kind of knowledge brought a lingering darkness to my heart and mind that I could not escape. It followed me everywhere, hovering in the hollowness of my eyes and the darkness of any shadows.

That sort of weight bore down on a person and it grew heavier every single day.

The weight was neigh unbearable.

How could I act like those girls?

I _wasn't_ those girls.

I could and would never be _those girls_.

Mostly because I was a _woman_ and not some giggling, fawning child.

And my hands were stained red. Blood red.

And I didn't belong here.

"We're not the same," I stated clearly. My arms crossed over my chest and I ignored the heat behind my eyes. "You're forgetting me, John. Who I am. I'm not just some dame from New York with a pretty brooch and a mink stole."

His mouth opened, but he said nothing. I looked upward toward the sky. A few stars could be seen in the blackness beyond the lights. Those stars would disappear within ten years' time with bigger and brighter lights. Taller and taller buildings.

"I have bigger things to worry about than trying to wriggle my way into your bed and a diamond ring on my finger. I'm not looking to have a good time or to party it up or to find a good husband. I'm not here to giggle or to flirt or to even see a movie. I'm here because-because-"

"Because you have no choice," John supplied.

Letting out a breath, I turned my gaze back to him and saw the brightness of understanding in his eyes. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I _am_ grateful, beyond anything you can ever imagine."

He shrugged, "Doesn't change the fact that you're right. You're not here because you _want_ to be. You're here because there's no other choice."

"If I was going to end up somewhere, I'm glad it was here."

Sort of.

John smirked, "New York City is the best place to be in the entire world. _Of course_ you're glad to be here."

That wasn't necessarily the 'here' I was referring to, but if I had noticed anything about New York's stereotype representation (besides his Brooklyn accent) it was his arrogance concerning New York City. "Right," I forced a smile.

The line started to move then and I sighed, turning to start moving. In the process, my arm was grabbed and I was held still. Gasping at the sudden contact, I was surprised to find that John was holding me back from continuing with the line. The people around us slowly disappeared, paying no attention to the woman that was being gripped by the casually leaning man.

Was this a New York City thing or a 1940 thing? Or a human thing? Ignoring that kind of action?

"We'll be late," I gestured toward the door.

He pursed his lips, "Your wrist is thinner."

I made to jerk my wrist away, but his grip became tighter.

"You haven't been eating, have you?" At my silence, he cursed. "Damn it, Michelle! Alfred put you in _my_ care and you haven't been eating. What have you been thinking?"

What a dangerous question to ask me.

Being virtually _alone_ in the fictional past for the past five months didn't have a positive effect on my mentality. How could I eat when I knew that there were so many people suffering? Death camps were starting their terrible purpose soon to solve what Hitler called the "Jewish problem." Britain was being pummeled by the German blitzkrieg. Italy was invading various places and it was only a matter of time before even worse things happened.

All because of my silence.

I could stop these things. I knew I could. Couldn't I? But that could change the future. It would change the future. What if the wrong things changed and the Axis powers won? It was a risk I didn't want to take. I couldn't take that chance.

Panic was welling up in my chest.

Not to mention the terrible working conditions of my job. I wasn't used to being at the _bottom_ of the food chain. Hell, I wasn't even part of the food chain. Now it wasn't just my professional inexperience, but my gender as well.

If it wasn't for my coworkers, I would have already been placed into some cases of harassment I wasn't quite ready to deal with yet. My boss was a slime ball and the other teachers quickly pulled me into their fold of protection. We watched each other to keep each other safe from the unwanted advances.

I wasn't strong enough for any of this.

I wasn't and I knew I wasn't.

I missed my family. My friends. _My life_.

John's grip on my arm slackened and my hand fell to my side, clutching at the hem of my skirt. "Michelle?"

"D-Do you know what it's like?" My chin was quivering, but I struggled to maintain my control. There was no way I would lose my composure. Not here. Not with him. Never. I was strong. I lifted my chin and continued with a thick voice. "My family. I miss them so much. Every single day. At least I have the comfort of knowing that they are probably okay. Are they though? I-Is my mother still alive or did she die in a sudden car accident? Was my sister's baby born? Did she die in childbirth? What about Corey? Was he killed in action? I don't know! I'm not there! I'm here and I'm…I'm alone."

Once again, New York opened his mouth and then shut it again. He didn't know how to respond. In his long history, I guessed that no one had travelled through time before. Wars, he had seen his share and other various terrible things, but he didn't know how to comfort one upset woman on his street.

Even if I knew he couldn't do a damn thing to help, I continued.

"And knowing the future!" My voice dropped to a whisper. "It's torture. It's torture to know something, to know what will happen, to know that _lives_ are on the line, and to ignore those things for what you consider the 'greater good.' It rips you apart." It makes sleep impossible. Makes you see blood on your hands. It makes you split at the seams.

"Why do you keep silent then?"

It was a question that I knew he had been dying to ask me.

"If _one_ thing changes," I breathed out, "the entire outcome of the war could change." Blood was on my hands, I could see it for a few seconds before it went away again. It was an image that came into my mind every so often. "I told him…I told Arthur that their blood was on my hands. And it is. I…Everything is my fault."

"It is not!"

My head shot up and I stared at the personification. He looked affronted.

"This stupid war is not your fault, Michelle. You didn't make Germany attack Poland or France or any of the others." John scoffed and rolled his eyes, "I know that won't change your thoughts on this, but I don't hold you responsible and I'd pummel anyone who did. Knowing the future doesn't make you responsible for it."

He charged forward and rested a hand on my cheek. I stared at him with wide eyes. It was the first contact I'd had with anyone in almost six months, since Alfred had left.

"As for being alone," he muttered. "I didn't mean to do that to you. Leaving you alone in that place like that…I should've thought that through a bit more."

"I'm a grown woman," I argued. "I can take care of—"

"Yourself," he nodded. "I know you can. You've done great so far, sweetheart. You've managed to keep yourself fed and clothed and even managed to leave leftovers on the counter for _me_ whenever I decide to show up. Frankly, Alfred put you in my care and I blew it."

"You didn't! I'm-I'm being immature and selfish! I can't expect you to stop your life for me! This is…This—This is me being selfish."

John J. Jones snorted a laugh and placed his forehead onto mine. I started to jerk back, but he held both of my cheeks in place. "I don't think you're selfish. You're alone in another time, eighty years separate from everything you've ever known. You've been dropped into the middle of a war.

"Your knowledge separates you from everyone. You don't know the culture here because, ultimately, the culture's different from when you were born and raised. You're a woman in a man's world when you're pretty much used to be a woman in an equal world. You're educated beyond your station and treated like a pariah for it so you have to hide your knowledge for fear of being treated like an outcast.

"You're no longer your own person. You're dictated to. Your worth is determined by the men that you know. Although you know some good men, like Al and me, we haven't done jack shit to help you adjust.

"That's not to mention that you have _guilt_ overriding every other feeling. So much so that you've been spending a third of your weekly earnings to send letters to Ig—to Arthur in a show of silent support."

How did he know about that? I had been extremely secretive regarding that particular facet of my life. He couldn't have possibly known unless…I was being followed. Anger welled up within my chest at that prospect. At the same time, I should have guessed as much. My irritation flitted away on the November wind. How could I truly be angry when I might have done the same? "You've been spying on me."

"Only at first," John shrugged as if it were nothing. "It was a precaution, but you are no longer under surveillance. I know you keep sending letters because you spend some of your earnings on stationary each month. That's where the off-white paper for the grocery list comes from." His arms crossed over his chest. "There has never been a response so I'm assuming that he doesn't know who's sending the letters."

Of course I didn't put a name! That would just add insult to injury. Arthur would likely view it as my rubbing my forward knowledge in his face as his people are killed. No, silent (anonymous) support seemed the much smarter option.

"You're trying so hard and yet you're stuck in neutral. There's nowhere you can go but to remain here until the war ends. And the people that you came to trust abandoned you on the doorstep of a man that had better things to do."

When he put it like that, I felt my nose starting to prickle and my eyes filled with tears. "I'm pathetic. Why can't I just be…"

"Strong?"

"Yeah," I sighed.

He chuckled and pulled back, thumbing away the tears on my face. "You know there's a great woman I know…of. She once said that women are like teabags. They don't know their own strength until in hot water." The corners of my lips pulled up a bit. Eleanor Roosevelt, wife of our newly reelected president. "I'd say you're in some pretty _warm_ water right now. And crying doesn't make you weak, neither does being alone or saying that you're pathetic. Strength is in the way you react when _true strength_ is required of you. Until then, you are simply living."

"Simply living?"

He nodded and smiled broadly, "That's right. Simply living requires some strength, it also requires some hardship. It's the same in all times of history, I think. We experience the daily torments of loneliness, poor self-image, little dramas that seem overwhelming." He seemed to interpret my shift as a negative reaction. "I'm not saying that your troubles are little. They're real and they're important, but…they're not unfixable.

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, doll face. I got so caught up in myself…You know, I'm not used to having someone depending on me. Generally, I've been pretty free to do as I please, but I should have thought about you. Arriving home to an empty house must have been hard. After a while of returning to an empty home, you grow used to it. I did. I left you on your own because that's what I'm used to."

"You didn't—"

"I did," John hushed me. "I pretty much ignored that you were there. I shouldn't have done that. I can get easily distracted by things." With all of his lights and shows and events, of course he did. I had thought of that before. New York was a free spirit at heart.

"I'm able to take care of myself." I didn't want to interrupt his life. He had enough going on without having to worry about me.

"I know, but you shouldn't have to be _alone_. And you won't be." He held out an arm for me to take and grinned in my direction. "You can take care of yourself perfectly fine, but there's no harm in making me realize and acknowledge just how _lonely_ you've been. Downplay it all you want, but I know it's true. I can see it in those tears. You're not crying because you're weak or because you're overworked. You're crying because you've been so lonely that you can't stand it and you're only now allowing anyone to know."

I was lonely.

Only now could I really, truly see it.

How long had this ache been in my chest?

Five months.

No, I couldn't lose it like this!

I was pulling apart, unable to take the realization of how lonesome I was.

Five months.

I missed my life.

Teaching my classes, college and not the high school students I was currently instructing.

Kansas City: the low-rolling hills, the jazz on every corner, the excellent barbeque.

Nashville: the mountains, the country music, the extended family get-togethers on holidays.

The technology: cellphones, computers, the internet, good television, and so many other advancements.

The _relative_ peace of the future.

Racial equality, gender equality, movement toward sexual orientation equality.

I missed _home_.

My Mom, Donna, and Corey. My grandparents.

I missed my friends: Lisa, Coraline, Darcy, Hyo-yeon, Jack, Reece, Kristy, Ricky, William. Alicia, the best officemate a professor could ask for. I missed everyone. Even the students that ignored me every single day in class. The ones that texted on their phones and the ones that giggled behind their hands. I missed their familiarity in this foreign world.

New York stared at me, watching as I continued to curve my body inward. I was trying to hide my face in my hands, leaning forward. My thoughts of the busy street fled away. People were likely gawking at the crazy woman bawling on the corner of Broadway.

Arms wrapped around my shoulders and I was pulled to a strong chest. Initially, I pushed against his hold. It had been too shocking and too intimate. I hadn't been hugged for five months. "Let go for once, Michelle."

My head shook as I buried my face in his shoulder. The weave of his jacket was course from the wool. "I—I can't. I can't. I don't want to."

One of his hands rubbed comforting circles into my back and I felt my walls crumbling. "From this moment, you've got me. You do. I promise you, Michelle Daniels. I promise and I'm a man of my word." His hug grew tighter. "God, I'm so sorry, doll face. I should've known."

"D-Don't apologize! Please don't! You've got…other things to worry about."

"We're going in circles here," he chuckled. "Just shut up and accept me as a permanent figure in your life now, okay? Things will go so much easier if you just accept that I'm now taking on the position of 'honorary brother.' That's a pretty awesome honor for you! I'm the coolest dude in New York—"

My tears abated somewhat at his declaration both for the sheer gravity of what he was saying and the fact that he _was_ New York. Of course he was the coolest of _himself_. It made me wonder if he knew that he sounded conceited. My guess was that he thought he was being clever.

"And that's it. Stop crying. Crying never gets anyone anywhere; it just makes them feel better. Are ya feeling any better now that you've got all that pent up emotion out?"

My head nodded and I pulled away, brushing at my wet eyes. A handkerchief came out of nowhere, held to me by the personification. "I-I'm sorry that I lost it."

"No big deal," he crossed his arms behind his head nonchalantly. "Isn't like I've never seen someone lose it before."

Letting out a hollow laugh, I bobbed my head. My still-wet eyes glanced toward the shut doors of the theater. "John," he looked to me, "we're late for the show."

John shrugged, "Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter? These tickets must've cost a fortune!"

He waved me off, "You really just wanted the money to go to Britain, right?"

Uneasily, I nodded.

"Think of it as giving to charity and not wasting money. Besides, I'm not in the mood for a picture show tonight anyway. We'll go another time." Deep blue eyes sparkled in the lights of Broadway. "Oh, and call me 'Johnny.' That's what my brothers and sisters call me."

"Johnny," I tried and smiled. "It'll take some getting used to."

He smirked, throwing an arm over my shoulder and I ignored my discomfort. We continued to move down the street, ignoring the looks of disdain thrown at us from the occasional 'upper crust' aristocrats. Such closeness was frowned upon. "Now, I say that we go get some pie. I need to take you to Dino's before Al checks in. He'll throw a fit if you haven't tried their pizza."

"Alfred is coming soon?"

"He's back from his mission."

Shock rippled through me.

 _That_ was why America had been absent, even though he had made numerous promises to come by and visit. He had been deployed on a mission.

My mind flashed to the scenes in the anime.

 _Of course_. The meetings. That explained some of it. And it also showed that there was far more going on behind the scenes of the actual anime and manga.

Johnny continued through the streets, dragging me along. "Al said that he hopes you're doing well. He's been worried about you." The young man's voice sounded regretful. "I never relayed his messages…"

So Alfred had been making contact. Johnny was just never around to convey that his 'brother' was communicating. Although I was irritated at New York's apparent inability to pass along messages, I was grateful to know that Alfred had not forgotten me.

"You're mad," Johnny laughed. "I'll remember that your left eye twitches when you're pissed."

"What did he say?" I wasn't going to rise to New York's bait.

The blond gave a half-hearted shrug. "Said something about staying safe, keeping the secret, that he'd be home for Thanksgiving, and that he's sorry for just leaving you with me. In hindsight, he probably should've left you with Tommy-boy. The hick's better at taking care of people. Well, kinda. If he isn't off making his moonshine." When he saw my raised eyebrows, John Jay laughed. "Tommy's my brother. He lives in Tennessee. Seeing that you're from there, Tennessee might have been the better choice."

"I thought there was no better place than New York?"

"HA!" the personification cackled. Now I could certainly see the family resemblance between Alfred and John. "That's _right_! There's no better place than the Empire State! Take that, THOMAS FREAKIN' _WILLIAM_ JONES! Your girl thinks I'm damn WONDERFUL! WHO'S THE 'STUPID YANK' NOW, HUH?"

 _Thomas William Jones._ Tennessee personified, I guessed. If his reaction was anything to go by, Tennessee and New York were competitive for some reason or other. Likely due to the Civil War.

Noticing that I was watching his whole tirade, New York straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. With a grin he straightened his fedora. "Not that I have anything against Tommy-boy. Not at all. Old news, ya know? I don't have anything against that hick." And that mannerism- running a hand over his face- looked an awful lot like a certain Brit.

"Right," I nodded and gestured toward the street corner. "Isn't that Dino's over there?"

And we walked on.


	11. Hope

_I believe in the United States of America as a government of the people, by the people, for the people; whose just powers are derived from the consent of the governed, a democracy in a republic, a sovereign Nation of many sovereign States; a perfect union, one and inseparable; established upon those principles of freedom, equality, justice, and humanity for which American patriots sacrificed their lives and fortunes._

_I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its Constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag, and to defend it against all enemies._

"American's Creed" William Tyler Page, 1917

He was gone. A brilliant human being. A man of honor. A strong man. A _good_ man. Gone. Torn away from the world, from his family and friends. And why? Some rogue cells in his bones. Someone Upstairs decided it was time. It didn't seem right. Not fair. Doesn't seem like anything is ever fair. The world doesn't deal in fairness. Maybe it has never been about fairness at all. Maybe it is what it is. Maybe it's best to leave it at that.

Why does it seem that only the good die? Maybe that song had a point. "Only the good die young," they say. I've witnessed it enough to know there's some truth in those words. Everyone has witnessed that kind of loss. A friend or a family member. Father, mother, brother, sister. Cousin. Some guy you didn't even know, who had enough of the world at sixteen. Then another at eighteen. The person down the street who was at the wrong place at the wrong time on New Years' Eve. Even towers built to the sky, clear blue and smoke, and a crowd of thousands.

My father was the first—the first to die. The first person close enough to inspire reality.

The first to wake me up from my childish delusion that death would never touch me.

Death was very real, I realized. Eleven years old and I realized that I wasn't immortal. It's a sickening thought. Death was not going to avoid me or my family. After all, it took my father. Forty-three. Too young. Far too young. And I got to witness the aftermath. The death of my father tore my mother apart. Her soul mate was taken from her. Donna and I, we were deprived of father-daughter dances and wedding traditions. Corey lacked that male role model that other boys had. Eventually, though, the heartache faded. And I was less consumed by my grief. It was. And I was. And it was best to leave it at that.

I slipped back into the comforts of everyday life. I grew and shaped myself into a young woman. I watched as my sister dabbled in dangerous lifestyles. She was determined to live her life with abandon. After all, why bother with control when all ends are the same? I watched as my brother found his dream, to join the Marines. All of his determination sparking from the role model he chose for himself just after our dad died. A character from a television show. A surly Gunny with an appreciation for coffee.

He enlisted right after high school.

Death became real again.

Knowing that he was in danger, knowing that my little brother—my baby brother—was fighting on some far-flung warfront…It was a stress I had never fathomed before. The potential was there. For everything to go wrong. Mom lived in fear of that house-call. When the officers would show up and declare that Corey had been killed in service to his country. I lived in fear of that day, too. It was a thought that I pushed to the back of my mind, not wanting to bear the weight of it. He could be killed or hurt at any moment. And I couldn't protect him.

Another late night call could come at any time.

"I'm gonna be okay," he told me. It was well-past midnight, the evening before I was to be honored for receiving my doctoral degree. I was curled up on the bed in my small apartment, wrapped in my grandmother's hand-knitted blanket with a cup of luke-warm tea sitting on my knee. A face was watching me from the screen of my laptop. Same brown eyes, same high cheekbones. Buzzed hair. His fatigues were visible, making the situation real.

Sighing, I shifted so he could see me better. I was backlit by my bedside lamp. We sat in silence for a while. Until he couldn't take that silence any longer. My brother was never one for quiet situations.

"Seriously, Shell, I'll be fine. Besides, this shouldn't be about me. It should be about you. You did it, girl. You got your doctorate! _Doctor_ Michelle Daniels. It sounds pretty cool, doesn't it? I mean, no one else has gotten a doctorate in our family."

"Not as cool as yours," I argued. " _First_ _Lieutenant_ Corey Daniels."

"Ah," he scratched the back of his head and smiled toward the floor. "Yeah, well…Still not used to the promotion, honestly." Of course he wasn't.

"You deserve it," I stated seriously. My brother had a humble streak a mile wide. Really like nothing I had ever seen before. "You're a good leader, Corey. Always have been. They saw that and decided that you could handle the responsibility."

"Two hundred and fifty guys report to me, Shell. What if—What if I do something wrong? It's a live warzone—"

"You'll do what's best for your company. That's all you _can_ do. Just the best you can."

Another heavy silence fell between us before my brother looked to the screen. "It's been a year. Since Jessie was killed." I bit my lip and looked away. I could tell that his eyes were full of tears, so I was trying to give him a little privacy. Carefully, I tilted my head back so that I wouldn't cry as well. "He would've come tomorrow." Yes, I knew that Jessie would have moved Heaven and Earth to come to my hooding ceremony. "I'm sorry I'm not gonna be there, Michelle. I'm really am."

"Don't. It's fine." He was being shipped off the next afternoon—missing one of the most important days of my life. "Take care over there, okay? Be careful. Please, please come back in one piece." My heart was fluttering in my chest, fear lancing through. What if this would be our last time talking? What if these were our last words to each other? Last time… "You're pretty awesome, Corey. You know that, right? You know we're proud of you, right?"

"I—I know."

"I never got to tell Jessie that," I murmured. "Never got to tell him how proud I was."

Corey nodded, "He knew, sis. Jes knew you thought he hung the moon." Jessie Miller did hang the moon. And the stars. And the sun. He was my brother's best friend since third grade and like a second little brother to me. (The annoying one that always drove me up the wall.) "Shell, you gotta try your best, okay? Teach them kids a thing or two. Don't let 'em walk all over ya. You gotta keep your chin up, okay? You're a lot stronger than you think you are." I nodded, brushing my hands under my eyes. He laughed, doing the same. "I'm gonna be fine. I'm a badass. My men are badasses. No contest."

"Yeah, sure. Just come home safe."

Suddenly, everything went dark.

" _He is safe,"_ a voice echoed somewhere in the darkness.

For a few moments, everything was silent. The blackness that surrounded me seemed to grow thicker and it weighed down on me, as if I were clutching concrete sinking to the bottom of a lake. It was sucking me downward and pressure was growing. I could barely breathe. The thoughts of my brother seeped away like they always did, sifting under the weight of time. A gunshot rang out and I flinched. I couldn't move my body. Had I been shot? No. Not me. Something like that couldn't—Was I truly dying? Was that why I was hearing voices and remembering my family? Maybe Dad or Jessie would come to escort me to Heaven? Or was I going there at all? Maybe I was in the space between worlds. No, I was probably dying.

Yes, I had to be dying.

" _You are not dying."_

"If you're the voice of God, I'm disappointed."

There was a long pause. _"Why?"_

"Morgan Freeman does not have a German accent," I grumbled.

There was a pause. _"I am not God nor am I this 'Morgan Freeman' you speak of. I am Germania."_

"Oh, _right_. _"_ The memories played through my mind. Everything that had happened. My arrival. My life in New York City. Alfred. Johnny. George. I tried to keep my composure. A thundering gunshot that pierced the night. And George."I remember now. I've been trapped in Hetalia for a year."Bitterness welled up in me."Thanks for that, by the way. Honestly, I'm sure the other world would have been the better option by this point."It was at then that I realized my lips weren't actually moving to articulate my words. I couldn't open my eyes. My body wouldn't function. "What—"

" _The other world was not an option."_ Germania answered levelly _._ It would have been better than being killed by two or three psychotic Nations bent on taking over the world. _"They are not_ crazy, _Miss Daniels."_ So, he could hear my thoughts as well.

"I'm _sorry_ ," I responded with a shade of snark. Maybe the stress was finally giving me a sense of reckless abandon. "George—Delaware was just shot at close-range and then I was kidnapped! Most likely, I'll be tortured in the very near future. That's assuming I'm not dead already. Oh and let's not forget the horrendous things they've been doing in Europe. The past hour wasn't even a snowflake on the iceberg. Oh yes, and your albino son is a jackass."

There was a growl of frustration somewhere in the inky blackness. _"Is that what you think? Is the Nation responsible for its actions? Do you believe that Germany_ wants _the world to be this way?"_

So he was conceding that Prussia was a jackass. I wanted to snort in amusement, but instead I focused on the argument Germania was making.

"Germany wants the world to be his way," I challenged. "Sure, many Germans were—are against the rule of the Nazi party. Not all Germans are bad people. That's not what I'm saying at all, but that doesn't change the fact that right now things are bat shit insane in Europe. And the _fact is_ that most that insanity stems from Germany's actions. Even as his grandfather-father figure…-esque…thing, you know that. You can't just deny it because you feel kinship for him. Same thing goes for Ancient Rome. Italy's not innocent either. No one is innocent here, not even America. I'm the first to support my Nation, but I don't think he walks on water.

"You can't sit there and tell me that everything will be all sunshine, rainbows, and daises when I wake up. He's going to torture me, Germania. For the information I possess. And you can't act like you were above the same practice when you lived. Like I said, no one can claim innocence. Not you, not them, not the humans. No one."

" _Bog_ (1)…"The voice of Germania muttered under his breath.

I snorted derisively, "Frankly, that may be a better fate than what awaits me."

He was silent at that, leaving a nervous tingle to run down my spine. In the anime, it seemed that Germania was a silent Nation. Perhaps that fact was true to life. Therefore, I laid there in the silence he left behind until another voice spoke up.

" _Although Germania is rather less than impressed with you, I am—how do you say—enthralled by your determination and wit. I have wished to speak with you for some time now."_ It was a woman. Her voice was deeper than most, mature and full. There was a comfort in the sound of it, like a mother or a grandmother. Something brushed the hair from my eyes, but I still couldn't open the lids. Darkness was still wrapped around me. " _Perhaps your eyes are closed for a reason."_

"You're Mother Greece, aren't you?"

The woman's voice chuckled, _"Indeed. You are very smart, my dear. Far smarter than you give yourself credit for."_

People tell me I'm smart.

"My decisions haven't been very smart lately," I responded with a sigh. "I only just decided to reveal the future. I've allowed hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, to die unnecessarily. Even _Delaware_ suffered because of my foolish actions. My arrogance. Plus wise, there's no guarantee that they'll heed my warnings. If they received the letter at all."

Mother Greece was silent for a few moments before she gave an affirming hum. _"There was a saying that I used to embrace some time ago. In fact, I believe that my son still embraces this proverb in his day-to-day life."_ I perked up and listened intently to whatever wisdom Mother Greece (Athena herself) was about to impart. _"It is better late than never."_

Better late than never. The timeless wisdom of Athena was… "better late than never." For a few moments, I lay in complete silence as that statement sunk in. I felt amusement bubbling up in my chest until I couldn't keep it within any longer.

Laughter ripped out of my mouth and I just let go. What did it matter anyway? No one could hear me in this chasm, save for what I assumed to be the Ancients. I just allowed myself a laugh of both amusement and sorrow. It was bitter, in a way, but also full of relief. It felt good to laugh again.

" _It is good to hear your laughter, Michelle Daniels. For so very long, you have been suffering."_ Mother Greece's voice was so comforting. I could easily see why Greece wanted to continue her legacy. Truly, it was a shame that Greece's economy was doing so poorly in the future. He was trying so hard to keep her memory alive. _"Things will be much more difficult from here on out, my dear."_

My laughter died away and I floated in the hushed darkness. "More difficult? Honestly, I would expect anything less."

" _Our world is not one of pain and suffering as you seem to think. I feel that this has given us quite a bad reputation"_

"Your world is like my world," I answered back. "It _is_ my world, except the nations are embodied. The experiences that I've had...They had nothing to do with _this_ world in particular. Certainly, a few have. I mean, the stress of knowing the secret of the Nations and yet keeping it silent. One could say that was a major trial. Keeping it to myself. Not telling New York and America. However, most of the issues that I've encountered I would have endured in any other incarnation of my home. In the past of my own world, I guess. What I mean to say is that this isn't the fault of _your_ world and I know that. It's…simply the way things are. It's the past and it's the hand that I've been dealt."

Athena's supportive voice was quiet, contemplative. _"This is a truth that you must embrace and remember, young one. Suffering is present in all places, but so, too, is joy and happiness. I must warn you, dearest, take heart. Not all will be as they seem. Many terrible things will occur because they_ must _occur. It will not be your negligence or silence that brings about the horrors of this war. Some actions have been written since the First Nations."_

I was quiet for a while _._ "In my world, this place is a story. Where the nations are humanized. It's a form of entertainment. It was never meant to be real."

" _Think about your statements, my dear. You will find that the answer is already there. The nations have_ always _been human, no matter the reality. We have always existed—in some form or another. There are many, many realms and many, many worlds, Michelle, all of them full of infinite possibilities. In that Infinite, we have_ never _been fictional, just…portrayed differently."_ Athena gave a sigh and something brushed along my forehead again. _"Dear girl, be brave. Look upon all with an open mind and heart. Do not let prejudice guide your actions or your words."_

I don't know how, but I could feel her fade from my consciousness. The blackness remained and I was alone, left to myself in the shadows. Forever, how long I was trapped there. Eons could have passed. Days, months, years. There was no sense of time. I just…was.

Awake. I was awake. My eyes blinked rapidly in the bright sunlight that filtered in from the large windows. The lids flittered shut again and I whined pathetically into the soft pillow beneath my head, turning irately onto my side. It was much too early to be awake. I didn't have classes for another few hours, at least. So, what the hell had woken me up? Maybe my cellphone had gone off? Groaning, I reached out my arm blindly, expecting to find my bedside table. My hand slapped into something else instead. Someone yelped and I jerked upright, staring over at the person's surprised expression.

What—

That's when it all came rushing back.

The abduction.

George. Delaware.

I was still in Hetalia, in the past.

Sucking in a breath, I scrambled off the opposite side of the bed, trying to put as much distance between me and the young man as possible. In my panic, I knocked over a vase, which shattered noisily on the hardwood floor. Something brushed my ankles and I glanced down momentarily to see a nightgown. Someone had changed my clothes. My silk nightgown from the attack had been blood-spattered. This one was a pale green. There was no blood pattern.

"Owie…" My narrowed eyes flickered back toward the awakening man. It was a little unnerving, waking up to _him_ of all people. Most would have written him off, but I knew that I couldn't do that. He was much more trouble than people gave him credit for. I knew it. Call it an educated guess.

Owlishly, he blinked at me as if trying to understand what had happened.

Then, a brilliant smile came to his childish face. I flinched, backing into the wall.

He jumped to his feet. "You're awake! Oh! Oh! This is so exciting! Don't you think this is exciting? The sleeping beauty has awoken!" His accent was thick and his voice was high, just like in the anime. "You've been sleeping for so long I thought that I might never see you awake, but here you are…awake! You know, Mister Austria said that I should just leave you alone, but I couldn't do that! No, that would be mean. You're a pretty lady and leaving a pretty lady all alone is mean!"

I cringed back into the corner of the room when he bounded around the bed. At seeing my frightened expression, he did a double take and stopped, brows pulling downward.

"Why are you frightened? It's just little Italy here to say ' _ciao_.'"

He wasn't even _trying_ to hide the fact that the Nations existed. Was he truly that oblivious?

From the first impression, I could tell that he was every bit as loud and obnoxious as he appeared in the show. Well, maybe not so much loud. Alfred took the cake there. The question: was he also as innocent as he was in the show? I doubted it.

It was best to pretend I didn't know anything about the personifications. "Who—Who are you? Why am I here?"

His mouth opened and then closed and then opened once more. "Ve~ Well, I'm Ital—" It was almost comical the way his eyes went wide and he began to flail his arms. If this had been on the television rather than in reality, I might've laughed. "I mean, some people call me 'Italy' because I'm from Italia. You know, I'm Italian. From Italy. As Italian as they come, that's me! I like pasta and…ah, pasta…and pasta! Spaghetti! Capellini! Fettuccine! So of course… you know I'm Italian. Because I'm from Italy! That would be why they call me 'Italy' sometimes. Besides, Italians are always so handsome and cool. Hahaha…haha." His hand rose to scratch the back of his head. "My real name is Feliciano."

Trying to take his over-the-top explanation of his name in stride, I gestured for him to continue.

He gave me a confused glance. For a single instant I thought of how frustrating he had to be as a student. Germany had taken him under his wing to teach him the arts of war, right? Italy would have been a _nightmare_ student. His attention span was shorter than America's. And that was saying something. "Why am I here, Feliciano?"

"Well…" he rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling. "Mister Germany didn't want me to tell you." He just got done explaining how he absolutely wasn't 'Italy' and just referred to 'Germany' the Nation. Oh man. Maybe he really was like this. "He said that if you woke up that I had to tell him as soon as possible. Oh! OH! I need to go tell him! You're awake now. Ok! I'm going to tell! I'll be back. Ok! Bye-bye!" Before I could say anything, he was out of the door.

Seeing the opportunity for what it was, I sped to the windows, jiggling the panes. Nothing. They were nailed shut. The room itself was a little extravagant, I noticed as I raced around the fancy tables and chairs to the other window. Certainly not Germany's tastes, it seemed. Italy had mentioned Austria. It was likely that I was being held at his place for the time-being. Maybe as a holding house or something. Austria was under Germany's control at the moment, so that made sense.

The other windows were sealed shut as well.

They'd prepared for my arrival.

And they knew I would try to escape.

As I rushed to the double doors, they swung open and I faltered away, putting whatever distance I could between the new entrant and myself.

"Well, it seems you truly are awake. I must say that you gave us quite the scare. Most do not respond that way to chloroform."

They chloroformed me! I gritted my teeth. "There's a reason that people stopped _using_ that method of anesthesia. The practice is barbaric. You only need ten milliliters to _die_ from that."

Austria raised an eyebrow, "Of that I am aware; however, _I_ was not the one who chose that particular…approach. The person who did lacks common sense and perhaps a functioning brain. You should aim your irritation at your abductors. I am merely the host." With that said, he took a few graceful steps forward. I mirrored his actions and maintained the distance, moving backward. He noticed this and sighed. "I am not here to harm you, Miss Daniels."

Nevertheless, I kept my distance and remained alert. I didn't take my eyes off him.

"Your name is Michelle Daniels, is it not?"

I decided to stay silent, glaring in his direction.

Austria sighed, "I am trying to make small talk and you are making the process extremely difficult."

"I was just abducted from my home. My friend was shot and left to die. My clothes have been changed without my permission and I have a headache from hell. Not to mention I have the sneaking suspicion that I've just been dropped in the middle of a warzone. I hope you'll pardon me, but _small talk_ is not the most pressing item on my agenda at the moment." Where was all this anger coming from? I could barely control my mouth.

His deep blue, almost violet eyes widened a bit at my statement. Obviously he wasn't expecting me to be so aggressive. Frankly, I was surprised myself. Besides, wasn't he used to dealing with aggressive women? He was married to Hungary, after all. "Make an amendment in your agenda then," he gestured with a wave. "You Americans are keen on amendments, correct?"

Crossing my arms, I shook my head. "My schedule is full-up. Try again in another eighty years." The reference to my time travel was very much under the surface, but I felt extremely smug for the cleverness of it. "Besides, we Americans _hate_ having to go through the process of amending things. Why do you think it took so long to end Prohibition?"

"Perhaps you people just hate admitting that you're wrong?"

America's face flashed in my mind and I shrugged. America was stubborn as a mule. Begrudgingly, I had to admit that Austria had a point. "There's that, too."

Smirking ever so slightly, the elegant Nation eased himself into an arm chair in the corner of the room. For a moment, I thought the action over. He was trying to get me to calm down. In doing so, he was placing himself in the most vulnerable area of the entire space. With his back to the corner, there was no escape.

Then, another thought occurred: he was also the most defensible in that corner as well. He could see every action in the room without worrying about an attack from his back. Ah, that explanation made more sense. Austria was a war-torn country at this point in time. Of course he would be defensive and cautious. "I am Roderich. Roderich Edelstein. I am the owner of this estate."

Warily, I settled myself at the edge of the bed. There was no escaping and it was best to accept that fact for the time-being. "Michelle Daniels."

"Although it is under distressing circumstances, I welcome you to my home. I trust that your time here will be…" The way he trailed off made my stomach turn. He knew just as well as I did. Although he didn't sound all that impressed with what we both knew was coming, he still had to say something cordial. He pursed his lips into a frown, "I hope your stay here is… enjoyable."

" _Enjoyable_?" I scoffed without thought. That was the best he could come up with? Like I was on some kind of vacation in the Caribbean. "I'm going to be tortured for information I either don't have or won't give. I'm most likely going to go insane soon. 'Enjoyable' isn't necessarily a word I would choose to describe it." I was surprised at my own hostility.

His chin tilted upward and he looked down his nose at me, which was awkward considering he was in a chair. Roderich pulled it off all the same, achieving the condescending expression he was aiming for. "Would you have preferred if I had said something more along the lines of 'abominable' or 'terrifying'?"

In all honesty, no. "Yes."

"Very well then," he acquiesced. "Your stay will likely be just as terrifying as you seem to be expecting. I cannot say that I hope this to be so. Nevertheless…" There was quite a bit of disdain in his tone, which I couldn't say was characteristic of the personification. I didn't recall much about the embodiment of Austria, aside from his musical abilities and his hair curl. Oh, and his haughtiness. That, too. "Nevertheless, I wanted to welcome you formally before—"

"Before this 'Germany' character arrives?" I allowed some fake confusion to overtake my features. I had to act as if I didn't understand the nicknames. "I assume he's the one leading this operation—with the current events in consideration."

"Leading…" Austria frowned. "Yes, I suppose one could call it that."

Picking up on his implication, I crossed my arms. "More like _dictating_?"

A small quirk of a smile lifted the left corner of Roderich's lips. "To that effect, certainly. Do not address him as 'Germany.' It would be in your best interest to refer to him as 'Ludwig.'"

Curious. They're maintaining their human personas. Even when they are likely aware that I know their identities. "Why is that?"

His gaze held mine for a few long moments before he sighed, "It is a nickname only a select few can use. There are several with similar nicknames. Do not address _anyone_ you encounter by those designations." There was something in the way he was staring at me, almost like he could see through my act of ignorance. "It would be in your best interest, Miss Daniels."

The door handle clicked and another figure stepped inside. My heart nearly stopped beating entirely. How much more stress could I take? Leaping to my feet again, I moved to stand behind the bedside chair.

Her sharp eyes turned to look at me, green glittering in the sunlight from the large windows. "Ludwig has summoned the girl to the parlor. Immediately."

"So soon? She hasn't been awake an hour! She's still in her nightgown." Austria stood from his chair and walked to Hungary's side. Her head shook solemnly, but she made no effort to respond. His eyes dropped to the floor and his voice dropped even lower. I had practice in overhearing conversations. "What do you think he aims to do, Elizabeta? She's hu—I mean to say she is fragile."

Compared to them, I certainly was fragile. I wasn't immortal. If I didn't hand over the information they wanted, then there was every possibility that I would die in the process. Chills overtook me and I shivered. What I wouldn't give to just go home—whether that be Nashville, Kansas City, or New York, I didn't care. I just wanted the warmth of a hug and the comfort of familiarity.

There would be none of that here.

"Come along, Roderich. There is nothing we can do." Elizabeta turned to me and gestured for me to follow. "You! Come over here." Seeing no other choice, I walked up to her and stood a few feet away. Just the slightest bit taller than her, I kept my chin up and my eyes forward. I refused to show how scared I was. I _refused_. "It's best that you give up right now, Daniels. Your life is about to get extremely complicated. It would be a shame for you to suffer needlessly."

Needlessly?

As much as I wanted to give up all the information I knew, I would not. _Never._ I knew I was weak and timid and unconfident. I knew that I was just normal. I knew all of that, but… I finally felt like this was one thing I _could_ do. It was the only thing I could do to aid America, Britain, and the other Allies. My silence was my purchase in this world. If I gave up my knowledge of the future to the Axis, then death would quickly follow.

Needless suffering? Ha. Ha. Millions upon millions were needlessly suffering in this war.

The forgotten peoples, the soldiers and their families. Worldwide suffering.

I'd grit my teeth and bolster my defenses.

I'd grit my teeth and bear it.

Even Hungary and Austria would benefit from the Axis losing the war. They would be returned to their autonomous states. They would be free of the Nazi regimes. The poverty and overlord governments would be replaced by republics.

Though, was one chaotic future any better than another?

I had to hold out as long as I possibly could. I had to keep my resolve close to my chest, use it as a shield against all I was about to face.

Steeling myself, I acknowledged that I wasn't going down without a fight.

"You seem to think that surrendering is an option for me," I answered her after a few moments. Her delicate eyebrows rose in shock. "You're mistaken. My life has been complicated for the past _year_ and if I am to 'suffer needlessly' to protect my friends and family, then so be it. I'm not going to give up anything. Not while I'm still breathing."

Austria gasped, shaking his head. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

I shrugged, turning to Hungary again. "You want to take me to Ludwig? Let's go. I'd rather not wait on pins and needles."

The house was just as one might imagine. Hardwood floors throughout. It was warm from the heat radiating inside. Certain rooms seemed to be closed off though I couldn't say why. Perhaps it was due to the ongoing war. The entire house seemed…distant, reserved. Almost as if it were an empty space rather than a _home_. The shadow of war seemed to linger over it. It had likely been standing vacant until Germany decided to use it as a base. As we walked, it felt as if the air were getting heavier and heavier. My head started to become fuzzy and the world tilted.

A hand caught my right elbow and I turned to see the small nod of Roderich. I gave a thankful nod in return and allowed him to aide me along the path.

When we entered the parlor, I felt myself stop breathing.

There he was, the man of my nightmares.

Blond hair, blue eyes.

I stopped cold, hands going clammy at the very sight of him. It was all I could do to breathe in that moment. My heart was thundering in my ears and it took me a moment to realize that the Nation was speaking to me. Blinking rapidly, I tried to control my emotions. My terror was causing tears to enter my eyes unbidden. Angling my head upward to keep the tears in my eyes, I heaved a great breath and steadied myself. "You're Ludwig."

"Indeed," he nodded. "I just said that. Did you not hear me?"

"No, I didn't." I answered honestly. He jerked and I saw some irritation enter his gaze. He was analyzing me, every aspect from how I looked to how I held myself.

Straightening his stance to a hands-behind-the-back 'at ease' position, Germany gave me another once over. "You are Michelle Daniels, _ja_?"

Nodding, I glanced over to where a man in white was standing by the window. My breath caught again. Japan. All three were present. "That is my name. Yes."

"It is…Unbelievable as it is, we understand that you possess knowledge of the future. Is this true?"

Straight to the point then. I fought the urge to snort in amusement. At least both of us didn't like to beat around the bush.

If this had been a less-critical situation, I might've found Germany's bluntness entertaining or endearing. Instead, it seemed a little intimidating, especially with so many other Nations in the room. My gaze flickered over to the stunned faces of Austria and Hungary, who appeared to be thinking Germany's accusations impossible. Huh, so they didn't know.

Then, I glanced over to the white-clad back of Japan. He did not move in the slightest, save for the smallest inclination of his head. Contrasted with these subtle reactions, Italy was bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Oooh, can you predict the future? Can you? Ve~ that would be so cooool! Miss Daniels, _bella signora_ , you must teach me! I want to predict the future! So many mysteries! Ah, I know! What kind of pasta will I have tomorrow? What about next week? What about—"

"Will you shut up, ITALY!"

I jumped at the suddenness of Germany's shout. On the other hand, Italy just whined and turned to his friend. "But Germany~ I want to know if she can predict the future! Like what kind of pasta—"

"I do not care about your pasta, damn it! I want to know about the war!" Ludwig pointed toward where Japan was standing. "Go over there and shut up before I gas you!"

Flinching at the casual Holocaust reference (one I knew was made in the actual show), I straightened my stance and put on a confused face. "I don't know what you're talking about. I can't see the future."

Which was the truth, in some respect. Really, I _couldn't_ see the future. Semantics. What great fun.

Germany's chin rose and he stared down upon me. By comparison, I was tiny and weak. Chills ran down my spine. This…was going to end terribly. I could feel it. "My spies relayed intelligence… Alfred Jones acquired a woman who possessed knowledge of future events in June of last year. Since then, plans have been in motion to extract you from his protection."

Spies?

_Of course_.

This was what I had been afraid of. I knew that there had been German spies in America during the war, but New York often wrote off my worries as sheer paranoia. Smugness welled up in my chest, unbridled by the serious situation. Call it academic pride. I knew I was right! I didn't do all that studying for nothing. I had been right all along.

"So, Miss Daniels…Or should I say Dr. Daniels?"

"Doctor?" Someone muttered, but I didn't bother to turn and look.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stood my ground, determined not to appear weak. No matter how weak I actually was. (Frankly, the light green nightgown wasn't helping me to stand confident.)

Narrowing my eyes, my mind flashed to a specific memory. I had only mentioned my advanced degree _once_ during my year in the Hetalia-verse. _One time_. That was all it took. That's all it ever takes. The smallest mistake could cause the greatest misfortune. "The pilot," I muttered. "The one that flew us across the Atlantic. He's one of your spies."

Ludwig didn't acknowledge my guess, but then again, I didn't need him to.

Besides, he couldn't out one of his own agents. My theory was correct though. I knew it was. No one else could have known about my doctorate except those two pilots and Alfred, who agreed to keep my secret in an effort to maintain my cover. America wouldn't have sold me out to Germany unless he was tricked. Only one of the pilots _smirked_. Though that was not hard evidence, it was enough with the given circumstances.

It was that pilot. I could remember feeling uneasy about his expression.

"You know the future," Germany stated again.

"No. No, I don't. Thanks for playing the game. Try again later."

What was I saying? What was making me act like a smartass? Pissing Germany off was certainly _not_ something that I needed to do. My health depended entirely on _not_ pissing him off. I had made his brother angry and gotten Delaware shot.

Still, anger was burning in my chest.

This was _his_ fault, after all.

_Look upon all with an open mind and heart. Do not let prejudice guide your actions and words._

Shaking my head, I glared over at the open window. Why were Mother Greece's words echoing in my mind?

"I-I apologize," I sighed and pawed at my forehead. Just barely did I catch the German's surprised expression before he hid the shock with a scowl. "I didn't mean to become immature." Glancing around the room, I noticed that Japan was now looking in my direction. Italy was beaming from the Asian Nation's side. Austria and Hungary observed with dropped jaws. Yes, I had _apologized_ to Germany. "You're correct. I do possess knowledge of the future."

"You do?" Italy cheered excitedly while the others stared at me in complete alarm.

"You _do_?" Hungary breathed with wide eyes.

"Tell us," Germany commanded with an intimidating stride forward.

For a moment, I was silent. I considered my options and the possible repercussions.

"No."

"…what?"

Straightening my back and lifting my chin, I tried to exude some amount of confidence. Truly, it was all bravado. I wasn't the slightest bit confident about what I was doing. There was a chance that I was making the wrong decision. And then, there was the chance (probability would have been the better word for it) that I was going to be tortured for the information I possessed.

Still, this was different.

This was a matter of life and death, war and peace. I couldn't shrink back like I did when I was a professor. I couldn't just lower my head and ignore the whispers. I couldn't.

I had to emulate my brother. My little brother. I had to dawn his courage.

I had to be strong.

Now, the true test of my strength had begun. Johnny told me once that you don't know your own strength until you're in hot water.

Well, this water was scalding.

"You _will_ tell me, Dr. Daniels…or there will be consequences."

"Tell you so _what?_ So that the destruction can spread to the rest of the globe? So that you can murder millions more because your boss is a psychopath? With all _due_ respect, Ludwig, I have no intentions of spreading my knowledge any further…especially not to the likes of you."

Anger flickered across the tall blond's face. I shivered, taking a cautious step backward. "You don't know who you're talking to." He possessed all of my attention as he stalked forward. It looked as if it was taking all of his self-control to keep from striking me. "You…have no choice in the matter. If you will not speak, then drastic measures will be taken to extract that information."

"Ludwig—"

" _Schließen Sie den Mund!_ " I cringed at his hostile growl and backed up until my legs hit a hard surface. He continued to stalk toward me, pausing only momentarily to glance toward where a whimpering was starting up. A flash of something—guilt, regret— crossed his face before he lifted a single hand to wrap around my throat.

At first, I panicked, wondering if this were it—my death. My heart thundered in my ears as his fingers tightened. Everything blurred into a mixed reality of terrifying threats and freedom.

Then, I realized that this was more a _threat_ than an action. He needed me. He needed my knowledge, so he couldn't kill me.

In an effort to show my resolve, I kept my eyes open and I stared up at him.

That's what I saw in those Aryan blue eyes.

He was so _desperate_ for this to work. It was upsetting him so much that it was making him do this, making him choke me. For a moment, I thought that it was odd, that desperation. He was a country that was attacking millions with little provocation.

It struck me then.

_He_ wasn't doing anything. My eyes slide shut, but not because I was passing out. I couldn't look at him anymore. Germany was a force I had feared for so long. He was a structure in my nightmares, an evil that I feared more than anything. In my nightmares, he had done unspeakably terrible things. He was a monster.

And in that moment I realized…he wasn't evil.

Not in the traditional sense, at least.

Evil does evil for the sake of being evil.

Germany wasn't doing that. He was a Nation being dictated to by a tyrant. He'd been forced into hard times for his own arrogance—and for Prussia's arrogance, as well. (Mostly for Prussia's arrogance, actually.) That economic downturn had been caused by the terms of Versailles, which _everyone_ knew would throw the entirety of the Germanic states into disarray. He had no choice but to follow the words of the only hope he had left, the propaganda of prosperity and revenge. Now, he was forced into a war that he was both confident of and exhausted with.

He was desperate.

And desperation could make a person—mortal or immortal—do terrible things.

"The war…will end." The words were strained from lack of oxygen, but I was able to rasp them out. The hand on my throat loosened somewhat and I opened my eyes, looking up at him with pity. My eyes were watering, but I wasn't crying. "It will end, though I cannot tell you when and under what circumstances. It will end and…years from now the world will view Germany as a place of beer, sausages, and insurance companies. The war will end."

His expression became somewhat puzzled, but I continued on—"It will end. The war will end." My mind grew hazier and I felt a little weak as the world seemed to spin out of control. The world suddenly tilted and I went stumbling to the side as Germany released me, slamming into something hard. I found myself leaning against the wall. Coughing, I found the staring blond Nation again from the floor.

"What…are you saying? That Germany will lose this war? That I will win? What are you saying, woman?"

Smiling slightly, I shook my head. "Is this the start then? Choking me won't get you the answers you seek. You're gonna have to work harder than that."

Breaking out of his surprised stare, he started toward me again. I didn't bother to move. Just as he started to lean over, someone appeared in between us. A blur of flailing arms was all I could see. After a moment, I just closed my eyes and felt the world tilt dangerously.

It was good that I was already on the ground.

"Germany! Germany! Do not hurt her anymore! She's already passed out, see? Isn't it better if we let her rest? Yes, rest would be good, right? Right? Ve~ maybe she could tell us after she sleeps and eats. She cannot talk if she is dead. C'mon, Germany! Let's not hurt her anymore!" I could imagine Italy pulling imploringly at Germany's burly arm.

"Italy…" The Nation growled. "I need my questions answered."

"It can wait, right?" There was a sadness and maturity to the Italian's tone that made me wonder if he was faking his immature nature to ease the tension. That was a theory I had fostered since being introduced to the show. For someone with such a violent history, it was only natural that he would be mature in some capacity. He would know how to defuse a situation, just like he was doing at the moment. "Right, Germany? Do not hurt her anymore."

Silence hung over the gathering of Nations and I felt several pairs of eyes turning to watch me. I remained as still as I could, not opening my eyes for fear of what I would see.

Finally, a new voice spoke up. His thick accent made him a bit difficult to understand. "The woman should be left alone for now, Mister Germany. She will be of no use dead." Someone knelt by my side and rested a gentle hand on my head. It made me jerk in surprise and my eyes flew open. Dark black eyes stared down at me, seemingly emotionless. Japan. "It would be in your interest to cooperate, Miss Daniels."

There was a moment when I considered his advice, but I knew that it was nothing I hadn't already considered before. I knew it was in my best interest to tell them everything I knew. Even so, this wasn't about _my_ best interests. "I know that, but I'm not going to tell you anything."

For a moment, he seemed stunned. Then that emotion faded and his face was blank again. He retracted his hand (and honestly that touch seemed extremely out of character). "That is your decision?"

"Yes," I replied without hesitation. Frankly, I was impressed with my own fortitude. I'd never been the stubborn type before and the thought (while terrifying) was oddly thrilling.

Growling in frustration, Germany sent me a quick glare before striding for the door. His combat boots made the entire house seem to shake. "You will tell me what I want to know, Doctor. You cannot remain silent forever. And when you decide to speak up...it will save the future of the Aryan race." With that, he stepped out and slammed the door shut, making the various decorations around the room quake and rattle.

Uneasily, I eased myself into a better sitting position. My eyes flickered over toward where Austria and Hungary stood, their eyes wide and frightened. In truth, the entire display had to have been quite frightening for anyone.

With Germany angry, there was no telling _what_ he would do. The only reasons I was still alive were Italy's pleading and Japan's reasoning. Otherwise, regardless of my knowledge, Germany would have likely killed me where I stood. It would have been a move of desperation.

"Ve~ Germany is not happy, is he?" Italy questioned, eyebrows rising dramatically. There it was, the immature mask again. "It's alright! I'll make sure he is happy again! Oh, I know! I'll make some pasta!" He started to run toward another door (different from the one Germany's had stormed out of) and stopped just before he crossed the threshold. " _Bella signora_ , please consider telling us so that this war can end sooner."

My head shook, but he had already taken his leave.

With his two partners gone, Japan calmly walked back over to the window, hands held behind his back. It was almost ethereal, the way he moved. When he spoke however, there was a note of irritation in his tone. "You should just tell us, Miss Daniels. It will save you heartache in the end."

"Perhaps," I muttered, "perhaps the heartache is worth the end result. Though, I will give you one warning."

He turned slightly, the orange light of the sun making him seem alight. There he was: _Imperial Japan_. The warrior. Shifting just slightly, I tried to think on what I could say to him. It wouldn't be enough to spare his future pain and there was no way to avoid the creation and dropping of the bombs, but I had to say something, right? I had to try and warn him.

"Guard your children well," I whispered. He stiffened, eyes flashing. "Look to the August skies from the long cape and wide island. Four years. Heed the raining words. "

Japan had moved across the space within seconds, showing his supposed 'ninja' skills that Johnny had so often referenced. He knelt at my side, staring into my face. "What does that mean?"

My shoulders rose and fell and I was determined not to say anything more. Japan would have to figure it out on his own. Perhaps if he heeded the warnings, then some people would be saved from the atomic bombs over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It was a roundabout way of going about it, but if he was as smart as I hoped him to be, Kiku would understand. "I can't say anything more."

He observed me for a moment longer before standing again. With a straight back and raised chin, the Japanese man strode from the room. No doubt he was going to reference some odd materials about my warning.

Although I knew that Japan was going to soon attack my own nation, I couldn't help but to see the sincerity in his gaze. My warning had unnerved him and that was enough to surprise me. With the way Japan had treated its own people during the war (threatening imprisonment for the mere _possession_ of leaflets); it was quite unsettling to see the Nation so stricken.

He feared for his 'children.' His citizens.

"Miss Daniels?"

Turning, I noticed that Austria had taken a few hesitant steps forward. His eyes were still wide and filled with something akin to surprise—perhaps _wonder_ was a better term for it.

Gracefully, he lowered himself down. A deceptively lithe arm reached around my shoulders and began to haul me up. For what was portrayed as a rather artsy fellow, Austria was extremely strong. Perhaps it was residual from his years as an empire? "You are very brave—foolish—but brave nonetheless."

I pushed all of my energy into my legs and found the ability to stand. My knees wobbled under my weight, tremors wracking the lower half of my body. "I'm not brave. I'm just doing what I think is right. That's all."

Hungary snorted, hiding the action behind her hand. Her eyes sparkled with amusement and something else, though I couldn't really place it. "Sometimes, that can be a form of bravery. Or stupidity. Either way, it's probably going to get you killed."

As I was helped out of the parlor, I shot the woman-Nation a small smile. "Let's hope that's not the case."

"Hope…" Hungary murmured in wonder. She grabbed at Austria's sleeve.

Yeah, hope probably wasn't going to do me much good as an Axis prisoner. Even so, hope is an inexhaustible resource. Hope inspired dreams and goodness. In the darkest of times hope could even overcome the darkness. With hope, I could keep dreaming. And I did dream. That night and the night after and the night after that, I dreamt that I was back at home. What was strange was the fact that this 'home' wasn't from the future. It was on a small Brooklyn street, where a loudmouth would often visit and an arrogant State would make delicious cheesecakes.

I just hoped and prayed I would see some version of home again.

Whether it be in the forties or the new millennium. Whether it be 'fictional' or 'real'.

Hope was the best source of energy and courage that I could quarry.

And, in this place, hope was really all I had.

** Footnotes: **

(1) Bog – This was a form of punishment back in the time of the Germanic tribes. Murders and thieves were thrown into bogs. Their bodies are still being found today, remarkably well-preserved due to the makeup of the bogs they were thrown into. Germania is using it as an expletive.


	12. Mistake

_For the sake of historical truth, I must verify that only the Greeks, of all the adversaries who confronted us, fought with bold courage and highest disregard of death. –_ Adolf Hitler, 1941

In my dreams of home (be them of my homes in Kansas City, Nashville, or New York City), I was always surrounded by family. My mother was always there along with my sister and brother. Sometimes, my biker grandfather would show up. I got to hold my newborn baby niece. They'd named her after me—Michelle Rosa Reynolds. My sister would prattle on and on about her husband and how much she missed me. My brother would watch football with America and New York, arguing about the various plays and battling rather dramatically over my cheese dip recipe. Somehow, America and New York became entwined in my immediate family, even in my unconscious mind. This fact didn't bother me a bit. They were my family. Now, anyway.

Mom—in my dreams—would always coddle the Nation and State. She'd make burgers galore for the elder of the two while he went into theatrics about how 'FREAKIN' AWESOME' her cooking was. She'd give him extra cheese, just to see him smile a little wider.

Meanwhile, she'd talk to New York about anything and everything. Because he could accept just about anyone. It was his nature. They'd talk about everything from fashion to cuisine, from politics to culture. And I would just sit and watch. Sometimes, George would join me and we'd smile at their interactions.

After a few hours of partying, Britain would show up with a petulant frown. Arthur would stride right up to me, cross his arms, and stamp his foot like a child. He'd declare that he didn't need _my_ help, that I had no right to send him all those letters. Then, he would relent and sit on the couch at my side, watching as the others loudly argued. He would offer no other words. We'd just sit there.

In the waking world, I wondered if he had noticed the lack of letters arriving.

My dreams were comforting, like a security blanket, but they didn't rid me of the harsh reality of my situation.

And what a perilous situation I was in!

Compared to most prisoners of war (and I was well-aware that this was my position), I was blessed and lucky. Austria—Roderich, as was his human name— was _insistent_ on keeping me well-fed, well-clothed, and comfortable. It was a rebellious side, I think. I knew Germany didn't appreciate Roderich's stubbornness where I was concerned.

" _She cannot wear this for the remainder of her stay here!" There was a grand gesture in my direction and I felt myself stiffen at the movement. Attention was never a good thing in Germany's presence. Blue eyes shifted over to me and, like I had noticed before, there was a flash of guilt in them before it was shuttered out by his lids. He raised his right hand and pinched the bridge of his nose._

_After a moment, he sighed. "She's a prisoner. Not a guest. You know this, Roderich."_

" _Of that I am aware. However, you are using my estate for your—purposes. The least you could do would be to humor me." There was an upward snark to his tone, but his posture was still extremely respectful._

" _Humor_ you _? What? Your house is my house. In fact,_ you sold it to me _. I can do whatever the hell I want." I jerked at the reference to the fact that most Austrians in 1938 voted to join with Germany. Was that an exaggeration by the Nazi party or did that actually happen? If his retort was anything to go by..."If I wanted her to be imprisoned_ naked _, I could!"_

 _Austria's jaw dropped. I sucked in a surprised breath, eyes going wide. In that moment, I saw Germany. Not the warring Nation, but the_ person _underneath all that. His eyes went_ wide _and he almost seemed to squeak. His gaze swiveled over to me and I instinctually pulled my arms around my chest. The green nightgown was far less than I wanted to be wearing after a statement like that._

" _Nein! No! I—What I meant was—" His face went red. "Forget it! Get the girl some decent clothes. Do so quickly. I don't care!" He took one final look at me and I once again saw a flash of emotion. Embarrassment. "I would never—"_

" _I know," I responded. Germany only paused for a moment before rushing out of the room. The undertone of the whole conversation was worrisome, but I knew better. Although German soldiers could get out of control and sometimes_ did _get out of control, I knew that_ Germany _would never—_ never _do something—like that._

" _You do not have to worry about…such a thing." Austria comforted. I glanced up to see him looking far more serious than I had ever seen him. And I completely believed him. I knew that none of them would do such a thing. That was the least of my concerns. "I'll have Elizabeta bring you some decent clothes. You best be prepared. Ludwig will do something soon that I do not believe you will enjoy."_

" _Will I live through it?"_

_Austria stopped on his way out the door and turned back. "If you're strong enough, you can live through anything he throws at you. Choose your battles wisely and you might just survive your time here."_

Then, Austria was gone.

I noticed his absence when shadows stopped passing underneath the door. He would pace there for hours, keeping guard. Like a ghost, the Nation disappeared. I knew—after hours of ponderous thought—that he had been taken to Germany's house. Where he would be easier to control. Where he wouldn't aid the "ignorant" human prisoner.

For the most part, I was kept in isolation. I wasn't allowed out of that bedroom. Food trickled down to nothing (a tactic I was certain Germany was using as a form of persuasion). And with Austria gone, there was no one actively arguing for my care. Germany was intent on cracking my will through hunger.

This was somewhat thwarted by Hungary, who would bring me bread and water whenever Ludwig was out on business. She would stay for a few moments, filling me in on certain world events, before stepping out again. I would hide the extra bits of food in the lower right hand drawer of the vanity.

My hunger was so terrible.

It was maddening.

At first, I could handle it. I could force my way through the pain in my stomach. After some time though, ten days or so, I could see myself starting to waste away. It was a no-win situation. I didn't have the energy to exercise and it was growing painfully worse as time drew on. Days turned into weeks. Each day longer than the last.

It wasn't as if I didn't try to escape.

I did. Numerous times. Each with the same result.

_I sat in silence, glaring at my folded hands. Hungary had come a few hours after dawn, leaving me a bit of bread and a special treat of tea rather than water. She was getting more and more blatant in her disregard for Germany's orders. At times, it was amusing. Hungary—Elizabeta—was a very stubborn and very steel-willed woman. Her antics at slipping me food likely did not go unnoticed, but there was very little Germany could do to discipline her. She was a part of his Alliance. For all that he likely wanted to strangle the woman at times, he needed her for strategic purposes._

_The tea had given me a boost, some foolhardy confidence. Somewhere in my mind, I could hear Britain's voice declaring that he would never fall to Germany's attacks. I wondered if he realized that the letters had stopped. I wondered if I was missed by Alfred or Johnny. I wondered if Delaware was alright._

_Looking up from my hands, I wondered if there was a way out of this mess._

_My gaze skittered around the room until they settled on the one flaw in my prison._

_Smirking to myself, I looked over to where tin can rested on the dressing table. My smirk became a blatant smile. Standing a little unsteadily, I walked over and pulled the can lid off, eyeing the lip of the can for a few moments before glancing toward the door._

_It could work._

_The screws in the door hinge were polished to perfection, clearly something of Austria's tastes. I used the edge of the can to loosen the screws on the hinges until the door itself was loose from the wall. My heart thudded in my chest as I stepped uneasily out into the hallway._

" _You are clever," a voice said with a note of praise. I stopped and glanced over my shoulder to where Hungary was standing. He arms were crossed, but there was a smile on her face. She was very clearly amused with my attempt. "I wondered how long it would take before you figured that one out. Breaking the glass a week ago was risky, too."_

" _Just my luck," I groused at the sight of her and sighed. "I assume you're going to make me go back inside."_

" _I will suggest it, but I will not force you." Hungary shifted and glanced behind herself. "You have perhaps five minutes before Ludwig will come down this hallway to speak with you. If you feel you can escape in that time, then do so."_

_I studied her for a long moment before shaking my head. There was no sense in risking immediate death when it wasn't possible to escape._

_Foolhardy just wasn't in my nature._

_Instead, I turned and reentered my room willingly. I replaced the screws and secured the door just minutes before Germany arrived for questioning. I refused again, but I got some amusement out of watching Hungary keep her laughter in check. She never mentioned my escape attempt and I never brought it up again._

Three weeks passed by in this fashion. After those three weeks, Germany had become distracted by the upcoming implementation of Operation Barbarossa—which was the systematic invasion of the Soviet Union. It was coming soon and I knew that I had been imprisoned for nearly a month, though I didn't quite know the exact date. Left in near isolation for a month. It was only the knowledge that his insane operation was going to end in failure that kept me going.

Attacking Russia? That's stupid on the best of terms.

Attacking Russia _without_ winter gear? That's just plain idiotic.

I wasn't about to tell Germany that though.

It wasn't until late-June that I was allowed out. By that point, I could barely walk. My legs were weak and my body was slowly collapsing in on itself. Even so, after a month of captivity, I was glad to stretch my legs beyond the threshold of my room.

That's when I met Greece.

He was sitting in the parlor when Hungary guided me into the room. Her hand was gentle on my back and her other hand was supportively holding my arm. Although I had been fed (by Hungary's mercy alone), I had lost quite a bit of weight. Bread, the occasional soup, and water. My muscles were weak and I was slowly becoming sick.

It was something about captivity, I think, though I couldn't quite say for sure. I wasn't dying, but I was certainly not well.

"He's here to see Ludwig," Elizabeta commented with her lightly accented lilt. Carefully, she settled me into a chair by the window. The sun felt warm on my face. A blanket was lowered onto my lap and she stepped away, crossing her arms. "Wake up, Heracles. This is the girl you've heard about."

"Mm," the sleeping Nation hummed. His eyes eased open and he turned to face me, still curled in the chair. He blinked, "Nice to meet you." Strangely enough, he actually sounded a little different from Vic Mignonga. His voice was a bit heavier, if that were possible. A bit more…serious. Maybe this was due to the current state of things in Europe. And his occupation.

"Same here. Nice to meet you," I murmured in response. He was exactly as he was portrayed in the anime though. Every bit the tired, lethargic Nation. Sighing, I ran a hand through my now-short hair. I caught Hungary's eye and she grimaced. I knew what she was thinking of and I couldn't help but to flinch at the memory.

_It wasn't Germany this time. No, he was too preoccupied with the death of Kaiser William II. The last German Emperor._

_When the man had died, it was during a session of my questioning. Mid-way through a threat, he froze. I thought for a moment that Germany was having a heart attack. His eyes had gone wide and pain seemed evident on his face. When he began to collapse, I caught him on instinct alone. Frankly, I didn't want to be helpful in any way. So, when I realized what I had done, I let him fall to the floor in a heap. I stared for a few moments before running to the door._

_This time, though, it wasn't Germany that had come to persuade me._

_It was Japan._

_He stared at me without emotion. "Mr. Ludwig has ordered that your hair be cut."_

_My mouth opened and then snapped shut again. Elizabeta, however, was on her feet in a matter of seconds. "What?" She stormed over to where Japan was standing with his hands folded behind his back. "What was that, Honda?"_

" _Her hair is to be cut."_

_I knew what this was. A method of dehumanizing me. In the war, the prisoners at concentration camps were often rent of their hair. Women and men alike. It was a means of keeping lice down while also being extremely profitable. Germans used the harvested hair to stuff beds and upholstered furniture. To insulate tanks and the like._

_And now…Germany wanted my hair cut as well._

_My hand reached up to pull at the locks. It was still the color of dirty dishwater like it had always been. Nothing remarkable._

_I had never been overly attached to my hair. Even so, the thought of it being taken from me against my will was something I couldn't stand._

_Everything else had been taken away. Now, my hair as well._

_Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, but I held them back. No, I would be strong._

_Just hair. It's just hair._

_I tilted my head back to keep the offending show of emotion from falling down my cheeks._

" _That is," Kiku murmured, "unless you decide to talk." He shifted and looked over to me. "None of this would happen if you would just give up."_

_He wanted so badly for me to just hand over the information. He didn't want to take my hair any more than I wanted him to. Still, his ally had requested this action be done. So he would complete the task at all costs._

" _Tell us_ something _."_

_My gaze flickered over to where Hungary was standing. Her wide eyes gazed at me, willing me to give them anything, so that this wouldn't be taken away. So that I didn't have to endure this sort of hardship. A sort of womanly pride in her hair—that's what Elizabeta had. I looked away from her imploring eyes and studied my hair again._

_What could I do?_

_Irritation welled up in me. Germany was taking this to another level. Near-isolation and near-starvation weren't working so he was trying another form of psychological torment._

_Taking away my hair somehow equalized with taking away my humanity._

_Well, then._

_Slowly, I stood up. The action was labored. I was growing weaker by the day. "Elizabeta." She stepped forward, a questioning glint in her eyes. "Could you please cut my hair? I feel like it's getting in the way. Besides, who am I trying to impress with such long hair anyway?" Feeling distinctly smug, I turned to Japan. "You can tell Ludwig that I thank him for his thoughtfulness. It really wasn't prudent to keep my hair this long anymore."_

_After a moment of stunned silence, Hungary barked a laugh before covering her mouth with her hand._

_Kiku studied me. "You are_ choosing _to cut your hair?"_

" _Why not?" I shrugged as if it were nothing. On the inside, I really just wanted to cry. How had all those women felt when their hair was forcefully cut from them? Hair that they had grown out for years so that they could achieve a perfect bun. Hair that was always complemented. That they took great pride in? It was sickening._

_I wasn't going to let Germany get the upper hand. Not like this. I wasn't going to be dehumanized. I'd take that opportunity away from him. "I look good with short hair."_

_Turning on his heel, Japan quickly walked to the door. He paused momentarily to turn back and stare at me. I looked defiantly back at him. My head was level. No tears were threatening my eyes now. There was a flicker of something in his face before he merely nodded. "I shall tell him." With that, he was gone._

" _You're insane," Hungary laughed. It was strained and crazed, but it was a laugh. "You're_ insane _, Michelle."_

" _Yeah, probably." I sighed and pressed a hand to my head. "Probably."_

Greece was watching me for a few seconds before his eyelids began to droop again. I snorted lightly and gave a go-ahead gesture. "You should probably get some more sleep before Ludwig arrives. Lord knows there won't be much rest when he gets here. The man likes to yell."

This seemed to catch the Nation's attention and he sat up a bit straighter. His green eyes narrowed just a bit before he yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "You say that like…you know."

Hungary stepped forward, coming to my aid immediately. I was grateful for it, too. Of all the Nations I had encountered while imprisoned with the Axis powers, Hungary was the closest I could get to a friend. Her motherly side had taken over in regards to my welfare. It was something that earned my respect. And somehow I had earned hers. Most likely because I was sticking one to Germany. "She's had to endure…some terrible things."

"What kinds of terrible things?" The air around Greece seemed to shift and his demeanor became less sluggish.

Ah, so it appeared that this one had a mask as well. With America, it was his idiocy. With Italy, it was his innocence. With Greece, was it his indolence? With each new Nation I met, my theory was proven correct.

"Would such things go against the 'honor' that Germany so often speaks of?"

In a matter-of-fact tone, forcing myself to become detached, I answered his question. "Nothing so terrible as rape, if that's what you're thinking. I don't think that Ludwig is capable of that kind of atrocity, despite what many might believe. No, he isn't. He—nor any of his subordinates—have ever laid a lewd hand upon me. Nor do I think that they would. Even so, that doesn't hold barred any other type of torture employed."

"Torture?" Greece wondered. "You are merely a young woman. Why?"

"You know already, don't you? Why bother asking?"

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension. Greece stared at me with seeming emotionless eyes. I could feel it though. The old Nation was pissed. A flash of self-righteous justice swelled up in me. "What sort," he muttered quietly, "What sort of torture have you been subjected to, young one?"

No question about my knowledge?

That was a nice change.

"Near complete isolation for weeks with limited food and water." Hungary answered for me. "Her hair was cut as well. Though…" She trailed off and smirked slightly at the memory. "She has been imprisoned since the first of June. You do the math."

If Hungary and Austria (whenever he was at his home rather than Germany's) hadn't snuck me bits of bread and water, I might not have survived.

When I came out, Germany really couldn't understand _why_ I didn't break under his questioning.

Well, it was simple enough to figure out.

I had decided to take my knowledge to the grave. There wasn't a chance in hell I would give him anything. If anyone, it would go to America—for the simple fact that he had never actually _asked_ it of me. And it didn't look likely that I would ever see him again. So to the grave with my knowledge I went. As my fat was whittled down to nothing and I became a scarecrow of my former self, I saw America getting father and farther from my reach.

Home was barely a speck on the horizon.

Actually, I couldn't even see a horizon. There was no end in sight.

"Oh…" Greece sighed, lifting a hand to rest on his forehead. "I see." His eyes slid shut and I was convinced that the man had fallen asleep again.

My gaze moved to where Elizabeta was standing by the window, her back to us. I watched the tenseness in her shoulders for a few moments before speaking. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

She turned and nodded, "I am fine. I'm not the one that you should be worrying about."

The beats of my heart began to pound faster, signaling my fear. Although I could remain generally in control of my fear and nerves in front of Germany, Italy, and Japan, I couldn't keep that same sort of composure with Hungary. She never pressed me for knowledge, beyond wanting to help, and she seemed to know that I wouldn't give her anything. Perhaps female intuition?

Really, we both knew she'd been ordered to become close to me. At least, that was what I suspected and she wasn't dense. They wanted me to trust her enough that I would answer _her_ questions.

Funny thing: I think they placed a bit too much trust in Hungary.

Moral of the story: Hungary does what she wants. Nazi rule be damned.

That would very much be the truth later in the war, when she would send envoys to the Allies in hopes of turning on the Nazi regime. It would ultimately backfire, but she did it anyway.

"Alfred? Johnny?" My voice was strained, but controlled.

Her head shook, "I believe that you are in for a rough day, Michelle. The German and Italian consulates in the United States have been officially ordered to close. Furthermore, all German and Italian assets in America have been frozen."

Ah, so it was _that_ time.

America must have finally won that argument with New York. It was better than exile and government-sanctioned discrimination at the very least, but it was still an affront to everything Johnny stood for. I could only imagine the falling out the two had over this. Johnny would flip his lid when the gathering of Japanese citizens would occur after Pearl Harbor.

When she saw my expression, she stilled. "You already knew."

"It was only a matter of time," I replied. "Operation Barbarossa started not too long ago or it's about to start, right?"

She nodded, still somewhat amazed by my foresight. "Two days ago. How did you know?"

I could finally pinpoint the date. June 24, 1941.

A sigh of relief rushed through me. It was nice to know the exact date again. For the past month, I had tried my best to figure out the actual date. Part of my torment was being unaware. Hungary told me some world events, but barely enough to figure an _exact_ date of it. Thoughts swirled in my mind and I acknowledged Elizabeta's confused look.

"One of the largest military campaigns in history," I shrugged. "Germany intends to invade the Soviet Union. With the help of Romania and Finland at the moment. Since Finland is neutral and has acquiesced to the German deployment from their borders." She appeared a little stunned at how much I knew about the tactical posturing.

Shivering a bit, I tried to wrangle in my fraying nerves. We had already come to this point. It was one of the major things I listed in my letter. If Alfred or Johnny received it and made use of the information, then they would know to inform Russia of the impending attack, right? Would America bother, considering his rivalry with Ivan?

Curiosity got the better of me. If they had gotten the letter then—"What happened at Halfaya Pass?"

Elizabeta sighed, shaking her head. Slowly, she moved to sit in the plush chair beside my own. Her head drooped forward. Though she was opposed to Nazi rule, she was competitive by nature. She couldn't stand losing. "Britain won the engagement. It was a surprise attack. Destroyed the forces there with little actual effort."

My reaction was measured and calm, knowing I couldn't give anyway that I had informed the Allies of anything.

I couldn't give any sign that there was something amiss.

A shaky 'oh' escaped my lips before I settled into silence.

They'd done it.

There was no telling what the repercussions would be of this _one_ changed event. Perhaps the war would end differently or a little sooner? Maybe fewer men died during that battle than had lost their lives before? Fear lurched through my stomach along with a good dose of pride.

They did it!

Arthur had used that information and brought about a victory. Even if I knew that the Allied forces still hadn't gained control over Libya or even truly secured Egypt…At least they survived Hellfire. What had once been a devastating loss was now a victory.

It worked.

It worked!

What could possibly happen now?

What would change?

"Better late than never," I muttered to myself. They used that information to affect change. To save some lives.

The man across from me twitched at my words. My eyes flickered over to where Greece had been sleeping, but his eyes were wide open and he was staring at me. "What…was that?"

"Better late than never."

That was what Athena had told me while I was unconscious a few weeks ago. She said it was the phrase her son lived by. It hadn't been my intention to gain Greece's attention like that, not with memories of his mother. My eyes looked away, but I could still feel his gaze upon me.

"Ah, Herr Heracles. It is about time you showed up. You're late."

Like a rolling cloud of thunder, Germany strode into the sunlit parlor. He looked even more haggard than he had a week ago, during his last visit to Austria's estate. His eyes were sunken and he looked dog-tired. The war effort was already grating on him and the split of support in his own country was likely tearing him apart inside. Four more years of this and I could see how he lost. He was just _exhausted_.

After him, Italy scurried into the room. He seemed a bit meeker at the moment, as if he just got scolded. Upon seeing me though, he perked up and raced to my side. "Oh, it's you! _Bella signora_! I made you some yummy food, but Germany—uh, Ludwig said you couldn't eat it! Are you allergic to pasta? Is that it? If you are, I promise to make you the best non-pasta pasta that you could ever imagine! It'll be just like pasta, but not actually pasta, you see—"

"Italy! Do not talk to the prisoner."

Looking properly chastised, Feliciano nodded his head and gave me a forlorn look. "Ve~ I am so sorry. It looks like I cannot talk to you." Yes, it did appear that way, didn't it? Grinning happily, he flittered over to Hungary's side and began to talk to her. "You know, Miss Hun— _Elizabeta_ , I did make her the most wonderful pasta ever. Ger—Ludwig threw it away. Said that I was being too nice to the prisoner. She's not a prisoner though, is she? She's just a pretty lady, right? Ah, I know! She's the princess! She's the damsel in distress! Now all she needs is a handsome prince to come and—"

"ITALY!"

Greece chose that moment to 'wake up.' In all honesty, I think he was saving Italy from another earful. And subsequently the rest of us a killer headache from an irritated, ranting German headcase. "Well, you sure took your time, didn't you?" Heracles sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair.

Germany stopped mid-insult. With a jerk, he looked over to Greece's dull expression. "What?"

"I've been here for hours. Good place to sleep, by the way. You're the one who was late." His eyes flickered over to me. "Better late than never, I suppose." I sent him a small smile before looking away, training my eyes on the window. "You wanted to speak to me about something? I have a lot to do, you know. Orders to fulfill and people to massacre..."

Woah, Blunt Greece.

He certainly didn't sugarcoat anything, did he?

To his credit, Germany was able to keep his temper and shock in check. The surprise only lasted a moment before he hid it behind a stoic mask. "I apologize if you were busy, Herr Heracles. You see, I just needed to speak with you about a few things. First, however, I have another issue to deal with." His sharp blue eyes turned to me. Almost out of habit, his emotions were pushed out of his eyes and they became cold, nearly mechanical. I wondered briefly if this was how he dealt with the reality of torturing a prisoner, blocking it out. "How are you feeling, Dr. Daniels?"

"Well enough." I didn't like how this was going. He was far too cold today. "Though, admittedly, my day will take a turn for the worse if you lock me up again."

"Yes, I would assume so. Though it would seem that is of your own stubbornness," he retorted. With slow, deliberate steps, he advanced on me. This made Elizabeta remove her hand from my arm and made Italy take a few steps back. Greece watched with a hawk-like gaze as the blond Nation neared.

For a normally lethargic Nation, Greece was every bit the warrior I expected he had ever been. He was considering all the possible actions and reactions.

And chose not to act.

I wasn't at all surprised.

No one would bother.

"You are still being uncooperative."

"Correct," I nodded. His German baroque was growing thicker with agitation.

"And you _still_ have no intention of sharing your knowledge?"

"None."

"Very well then," he sighed. "If you continue to refuse, then I have no choice but to move to more drastic measures of persuasion. Your hair is gone, I see. It's longer than I would have liked though." I didn't allow any emotion onto my face, but I felt my stomach drop. My hair was only a few inches long. It didn't even touch my ears. "I assume you now know the date. Yes, I have no choice but to become harsher with you."

"Ve~ but Mister Germany—"

"Italy, shut up!"

I noticed that Japan had placed a calming hand on Feliciano's thin shoulder. He withdrew it immediately though, as if realizing that he had touched someone.

When did Japan arrive?

It didn't matter.

I steeled myself to my resolve.

I could do this.

I could.

Germany shifted, leaning down to my eye level. Controlling my reaction, I stopped myself from pulling back. Instead, I just stared at him. He stared right back, unimpressed by my acts of rebellion. Though I could and would never outright provoke the Aryan Nation, I was not opposed to under-the-surface prodding—if only to irritate him a little. "How do you like darkness, Doctor?"

Stilling, I flicked my gaze toward the only unknown in the room.

Greece was watching the exchange with a rigid posture, his hands gripping the armrests with such strength that his knuckles were turning white.

Well, I appreciated the emotion behind the action at least.

He didn't like this as much as it seemed Hungary didn't like it. And she was currently fuming beside me, barely holding herself in check. Greece was angry. That, of itself, was surprising and endearing. Was he too old for any of this? Did he think of this as just another war? With his current occupation, did he hate Germany just as much as the rest? They were all questions that I considered for the moment.

Then, that moment was pushed aside. Germany's hand was strong on my upper arm as he wrenched me up from my seat. I was standing in an instant, choking back a yelp at the pain that sent tremors through my body.

"Oh no," Italy whispered under his breath. I swung my attention to him, only to catch the most heartbreaking stare that I had yet to see.

Italy looked sick, terrified, and hurt. His tearful eyes swept up from my bony legs to my thinned torso, and then up to my face. Frankly, it was a little embarrassing. Although I looked nothing like what many would look like at the end of the war, I did look quite terrible. My once full face was gaunt. With only bread and water for weeks, it had made me thin out a lot quicker than normal. That had quite an effect on my overall health. I still had some muscles, but they weren't going to last much longer.

It wasn't dangerously unhealthy, just a stark difference from the way I arrived. My extra meat was long gone and that difference was visible enough to inspire shock.

It seemed that even Germany was surprised by my "frail" state because his grip eased just slightly before tightening again. There was a flash, however momentarily, of the peaceful Nation behind the Nazi rule. It was a glimpse of how he would be in the future.

He wasn't evil. And I knew that. I knew that he was in a difficult situation, just like everyone else. He was bound to his role and, no matter what, he had to do what was best for his people. It didn't help that with different factions in Germany, his mind was likely split—maybe it was like a million voices screaming at him to act in different ways. I couldn't say.

If my thin legs surprised him, then he only had to wait a few years to see the true destruction that would come of his political regime.

Then, like an almighty gale, anger hit me. My appearance was _nothing_ compared to how the victims of the camps would look like after liberation. And these Nations were surprised by this…this loss of weight? Some people weren't even getting the blessing of bread or water. Others had nothing, not even life. Especially in the death camps. They were already feeling guilt over my slight malnutrition.

"Wait a few years and then you can feel guilty," I muttered. Before anyone could question me about it, I turned my face up to Germany's stunned expression. "I suppose my psychological torture begins anew? Perhaps a darkened dungeon where no light can penetrate? Will you shear the rest of my hair off? Really make me live without food or water? How long would it take then before I wither away?"

"Michelle!"

Hungary was worried, worried for me. I sent her a small, comforting smile. "It's alright. I knew this was coming. Otherwise, he would have kept me in that bedroom. He knows that physical torture would likely kill me so it only stands to reason that he would attack my emotions. Right, Ludwig?"

"Smart woman," he agreed. "You are far smarter than those Allied fools."

"I think you'd be surprised. They might look stupid, but they're a lot smarter than they look, you know."

" _They_?"

The entire room seemed to go still at the implication in Greece's tired drawl. I felt my stomach drop and I sucked in a breath. What did I do? What did I just do? Terror ripped through my chest as I looked around at the surrounding Nations. They all stared at me as if I had outted some huge secret. Which I did. Germany's face contorted into various degrees of rage while shock rippled around to all the others.

They knew.

They knew I knew.

"Oh God…I-I-It's not what you think."

"You know," Germany growled. I winced backward, but there was no escape.

There was never an escape, was there?


	13. Black Out

" _Awful news from Crete. We are scuppered there, and I'm afraid the morale and material effects will be serious. Certainly the Germans are past-masters in the art of war—and great warriors. If we beat them, we shall have worked a miracle."_ – Alexander Cadogan, end of diary entry for May 27, 1941

Immediately, my mind began reeling through various plans of escape. I had to convince them that I wasn't referring to the Nation Allies, but the actual armies. It seemed like a monumental task and I knew, honestly _knew_ , that I wasn't going to be able to pull it off. Carefully, I worked myself backward to a comfortable distance from Germany. He had released me in his shock and I was taking advantage of that freedom to gain some space. Settling on a plan, I decided to try and convince them I had no idea what they were talking about. "I mean—with so many millions of people in a nation…There have to be a few smart ones in there somewhere, right?"

I had broken my cover and I knew it.

How could I have messed up this bad?

There was a moment of silence before Greece spoke up. His voice was level and calm, but there was a note of amusement there. It was the wrong time for him to be _entertained_ by all this. "You do know about the Nations, don't you? How interesting…"

"What? Of course. Nations are groups of people sharing the same cultures, beliefs, or unifying factors."

Something clicked in my mind and I saw the images of two wily friends with their guns held aloft. Did Prussia and Spain _really_ not tell them that I knew? Maybe they thought that I didn't believe them. Or that it wasn't that big of a deal. Or that I wouldn't remember.

Frankly, they could have been _intentionally_ making problems for Germany.

Just being them, I wouldn't have been surprised at any of the previous theories.

Prussia, just because he could and Spain because…Well, just because he could, too.

"No," Greece replied patiently. He sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "You know of the National personifications, anthropomorphic representations of world nations." Well if I didn't know already, I would know now. Did none of them err on the side of caution?

Germany surged forward and grabbed my arm again. His grasp on my arm was unbearably tight and I winced. There was an almost protective ferocity in his eyes. "You know? Do you?"

It was best to continue with my ignorant act. With the way Germany was glaring at me, my knowledge of the Nations was certainly not a good thing. And it didn't win me any points in this situation. "Th-that's impossible. Nations can't be _p-personified_!"

It was a weak defense and I knew it.

What was worse, the present Nations knew it as well.

Bright blue eyes turned toward the only other woman in the room and I felt my spine stiffen. No. No, he couldn't think _she_ would tell me! Elizabeta held up both hands in a signal of innocence, but it was not enough to deter his temper. "You told her?" His tone promised retribution and pain. Though she tried to appear fearless, I could see the flicker of worry in her surprised face. She didn't want his revenge to be dealt to her. Or her people. "If you did—"

Well, I couldn't see any viable path out of it.

And Hungary was _not_ getting blamed for something she didn't do.

She was _especially_ not going to take the fall for me.

I pressed my lips together and sent up a prayer that I wasn't about to get myself killed. My back straightened and I tried to hold myself a little straighter than before. I would need all the strength in my body to keep myself from collapsing under all this pressure.

"No," my voice halted all movement in the room. Hungary sent me a concerned frown. I ignored it. "I figured it out a while ago and, frankly, it wasn't that hard. You should all be a bit more cautious when referring to each other. If I didn't already have a clue as to your identities, I could have easily still figured it out—simply from your references to each other. You keep calling each other by your country's name. Germany. Italy. The only ones who have not had that problem are you, Mister Japan, and you, Hungary."

Germany turned and gawped at my outspoken declaration, my clear calling out of his mistakes. It didn't stop me though. They needed to know this stuff if they were going to keep it a secret from other people. I wasn't exactly the most observant human out there, so it was for their own safety that they be made aware of these security failures.

"Plus, someone could find the relations between you all quite odd. Particularly during wartime. A Japanese man, an Italian, and a German officer. Not to mention a Hungarian woman and a man from Greece. All under one roof? All in military fatigues and uniforms? And that's not to mention Gilbert and Antonio running their mouths." When no one responded, I shook my head in mild exasperation. "I know the future and _this_ is what you're most shocked about?"

Germany turned fully and glared at me. "Gilbert and Antonio, what?"

"I am assuming that Antonio is some Latin Nation? Spain, perhaps? He did have a bit of a Spanish lisp in his accent." Ah, feigning ignorance. I was far too good at it by this point. "He's under your command right now, right? No, that's not right. Franco is sympathetic toward your interests, but…ultimately Spain doesn't need another war after his civil war a few years back." Seeing that he was about to start arguing, I continued on and shook my head. "They like to talk don't they, Antonio and Gilbert?"

"They told you?" Japan questioned, speaking up for the first time.

I glanced to him and huffed. They expected Spain and Prussia to be discreet? Them? Well, they most likely had experience with sabotage and cloak-and-dagger work. However, they didn't bother with it when kidnapping me. "Well, they certainly weren't _quiet_ about it." The blond Nation grunted, clearly buying that Prussia would out their secret. "They didn't divulge that information directly. As in, they didn't tell me straight out. They just…implied."

Germany's grip became even tighter and he growled lowly, "You can tell no one."

Honestly. "Just _who_ am I going to tell, Ludwig? The other plethora of prisoners here?" My vague gesture around the room was evidence enough of my lonesome imprisonment. "Besides, no one would believe me anyway. And—despite what you may think— I'm strong enough and loyal enough to keep such secrets to myself. If you haven't noticed already, that is. Though my loyalty is obviously not yours. It's not for _you_ that I'll keep these secrets in the first place."

Greece spoke up again, voice no longer tired. Instead, he looked mildly interested. "You know that Alfred is America, do you not?"

"I do," I nodded. Heracles clearly understood what my stance was regarding my assertion of loyalty. That is, if his immediate question about Alfred was anything to go by. "I know a few of the States as well. New York. Delaware. New Jersey. Arthur is Britain. That's the extent of my knowledge regarding the Nations."

That last bit was obviously a lie, but I had decided that it was best to keep the rest of my information a secret. An Ace, if you will. And I was keeping it up my sleeve for the time being. There was no telling how Germany would react to my _extreme_ familiarity with the Nations of the World. The fact that I knew their names and appearances. I couldn't let him know just how far my knowledge extended.

And I couldn't let him know the fact that he was 'fictional.'

Yeah, best to keep that fact as close to my chest as possible.

The shock factor could buy me time in the future. It was a strategic withholding of the truth.

If I needed it.

Only if I really needed it.

Only if I was desperate.

"I have figured you all out by now. I had _a lot_ of time in that room."

"How did you—" The blond growled, grip on my arm tightening.

Growing a bit tired of the continued bruising of my arm, I jerked it a bit. As if realizing how much pressure he had been applying, he automatically loosened his grip. It almost seemed like an action he was unaware of. Satisfied that I could feel my arm again, I answered before he could finish the question. "I might have suspected for a while. I lived with New York. John Jay Jones. It's hard _not_ to notice some things. And anyway, I might've overheard a few conversations."

"No shock in _that_ house," Hungary muttered. Her head shook. "Bunch of loud goons anyway."

"To be fair, I was eavesdropping. They were trying to protect me from world events, to keep me from going crazy under the weight of the future. I couldn't live like that, in _ignorance_ ," I spat that word out like a curse. It seemed to catch a few Nations by surprise. Maybe I was still a bit bitter toward America and New York for their constant effort to keep me out of the loop. "And instead I listened in on several of their discussions. Mostly, they argued, but they also worried for China—don't glare, I forgot about China and I really don't know _who_ he is— and Britain."

All of this was true (save for the bit about China). Germany could practically _sense_ lies, so it ultimately would have been detrimental to lie directly to him. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Japan flinch at my mention of his older brother figure…-esque…thing.

"I don't care if you're personified nations. It's neither here nor there to me. And I won't tell anyone."

Italy was the first to react to this statement. He was bounding up to me within seconds, grabbing both of my hands. Germany released my arm as if he were scalded by hot water. "Ve~ you don't care? You don't care that we're Nations? That we're hundreds of years old? That we're—" He stopped and seemed to contemplate something for a moment. "That we're who we are?"

I stopped, observing the hopeful look in the young man's eyes. Young? He wasn't young. He was old. Very old. Still there was a childlike hopefulness there. That I would accept him for _what_ he was.

For a moment, I considered saying that he was incorrect. That I was just lying before. That I certainly _did_ care and was just giving lip service to stay alive. That I thought they were strange and that I hated them. For what they've done to me. That they _weren't_ human. That they were evil and vile and…Just that they were monsters.

Just to spite him. To make him hurt.

If I did, I would have gone against everything I ever believed and stood for. And though that temptation— to be cruel— was divinely alluring, I couldn't bring myself to dash out the optimism that was gleaming in Italy's eyes. I couldn't say all that because I didn't believe it.

"I don't care," I responded calmly. "I don't care because you're still people. In the broadest understanding of the concept, you're made up of people and that makes you people yourselves. You're Nations. Nations are people. Therefore, you are people."

A veil of silence fell over the group. As if completely floored by my simple logic. Frankly, I didn't see anything remarkable about it. The rationality was completely sound and what I was saying made complete sense. Even so, most of the Nations stared in disbelief. Only one broke the silence.

"Syllogism," Greece commented with a slight note of appreciation and a hint of smugness. A couple of the Nations—Japan and Hungary—started at the suddenness of his statement. "That was syllogism. Nicely executed, Michelle."

Of course _he_ would know that though. I smiled just slightly and nodded to him. Greece had _invented_ rhetoric. Syllogism was first explained by Aristotle, one of his most famous philosophers. Not only that, he said that my logic was well executed. My historic and scholarly heart soared for a few seconds. It gave me the courage to keep going.

Nothing ever urges a scholar on more than words of praise. We're the sort that loves recognition.

"Hundreds of years old?" I questioned. "Well, that makes sense. You're as old as the nations you embody. Thousands of years wouldn't surprise me, honestly. And as for whom you are? Well, if you're honorable, nice, and show some respect for other Nations, I don't care _who or what_ you are." I sighed and palmed my forehead. "Frankly, I don't know if half of what I'm saying is actually making any sense at this point…"

Glancing around, I noticed that Feliciano looked stricken, clasping at the hem of his shirt. His eyes were wide and there was a sparkle in them that almost looked like tears. His knuckles were white as he held his shirt.

For a moment, I saw a different image superimposed on top of him.

My breathing caught for a moment and I felt Germany grab my arm again. Though, instead of showing his superiority, I think he thought I would pass out. There was a clear look of concern that he shot me. I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Even though I would have a bruise there soon enough, his rare show of care was endearing.

I couldn't care less at the moment though.

The image—vision—was vivid and disturbing.

Overlaying like a slide on a microscope.

It was Italy, certainly, but his navy blue jacket was bloodstained.

After a few blinks, the superimposed image was gone and Italy's clothes were clean of the red splotches. "Ve~ _bella signora_ , are you alright?"

"I'm—" I hesitated, shaking my head to clear it. Germany's grip became unbearably tight and I choked down a yelp of pain. What _was_ that? It couldn't be— "I'm fine, Italy."

"Ah! You used my name!" He seemed extremely happy with this prospect and he bounced like an overly energized puppy. "She called me Italia! You called me Italia! Oh, this is so wonderful! Germany, Germany—do you have to torture her _now_? I would love to feed her some pasta and talk. You know how I love to talk! We Italians love to talk. Talk, talk, talk. And when we stop talking, we talk some more! And anyway, you have to meet with Greece. Ah, Miss Michelle, did you know that this is Greece? Well, he is. It's Big Brother Greece! He can be sleepy at times, but he's really nice and he makes good food, so he's alright in my book!"

It was a little disorienting for Italy to be speaking so fast and I almost didn't notice that Germany had released my arm until the strength faded from my legs. His grip was the only thing holding me aloft.

How ironic.

Italy was there in an instant, looping an arm under my shoulder. The swift movement caught me completely off-guard. Although he appeared to be flighty and a complete dunce, the truth was: it was all a mask. The aspects of his personality that he put forward were the parts that made him seem the most harmless. It was in keeping with the theories I had entertained back home.

Hopeless Italy would have never been able to move that quickly…without tripping.

"I'll just take her to the kitchen! We can _parlare_ in there while you all blah-blah about whatever political alliances and training and other not-fun things." Before anyone could raise a word of disagreement, he was hurrying me out of the parlor and down the hall. "Okay! _Ciao_!"

He was extremely gentle, more than he had ever been before. Frankly, that was concerning. Seeing the serious side of Italy wasn't exactly something I had set out to do. It seemed though that I had somehow stumbled upon a trigger for the old Nation. I didn't quite know what it was and, really, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"You really _do_ know the future don't you?"

He led me around the kitchen table and carefully lowered me into a seat there. "I do." Watching him move around the table, I tried to figure out what had brought how his somewhat serious side. "Why?"

"I was curious, I guess. This could all be one really, really big misunderstanding." After a moment of watching me, he nodded. Shame came over his kind features. "I-I'm…I'm so sorry that…I cannot help you." He looked away, near tears. "You are…It's sad. I'm sad. You should not have to suffer like this. If I were—If I were stronger, then maybe I could help you. I'm sorry."

"I never expected you to," I responded calmly. Italy wanted to help me and that was simply breaking my heart. I suppose that I could see whatever Germany and Japan saw in him. A sort of hopeful innocence. He wanted so badly to help. He couldn't. "I never expected anyone to help me. No one will help me. I know that. And, as long as I can stay strong, it really doesn't matter."

Italy paused, looking over my gaunt features. "Why though? Why do you do it? You…You're human. You do not have to remain silent. You could tell him everything. Everything. They would understand. Tell Germany what he wants to know. He would let you go. You could be free. We could make sure you're comfortable. I know! You could stay in Roma. It would be safe there. You could eat a lot. Why do you not tell him?"

That's what the trigger was.

Italy felt guilty for what was happening to me.

When really, it was my own doing. No one really should have felt guilty. It was easy enough for me to give up. To turn on all that I had ever known. I could have been done with this before it even began.

Yet that wasn't the point, was it?

How could I make Italy understand my motives? Make him feel less at fault?

"You're loyal to Germany, right?" Why did I feel like a teacher again? He was hundreds of years older than me. I couldn't possibly _teach_ him anything. Even so, my tone took on that teacher-sound. Maybe it was a method of distancing myself from the situation. Yeah, that made sense. If I used that tone, I could keep him at arms-length.

He hesitated before nodding resolutely. "Of course! I would do anything for Germany. Anything at all."

Smiling slightly, I leaned back. "Well, if you knew a secret that could harm him, would you tell someone else? Knowing that that they would use it to hurt him?" His head shook rapidly. "I know so many secrets that could harm _both sides_ of this war, Italy. There're terrible, terrible things coming. No one is safe. Not America. Not Germany. Not Britain. Not even you. And, no matter what I do, lives'll be lost. On both sides. I'm simply trying to protect…what's important."

Italy considered this for a few moments, staring at the table. It was almost as if he couldn't process what I had told him. The shift was sudden. His posture straightened a little bit and his eyes hardened with a gleam of determination. Then, he was a Nation—the grandson of the Roman Empire, a hardened warrior and crusader. It was all there in those brown eyes and it was unlike anything I had seen before.

So much history, right in front of me.

In the next instant though, he had placed the mask back on. A smile broke like the rays of sun out of a storm cloud. That Elder Nation had faded away and slunk back into the darkness. Hetalia was back.

"Ve~ _bella signora_! I'm going to make you some delicious pasta. You're not _actually_ allergic to pasta, are you? That would be tragic!"

"I'm not allergic. Make whatever you want, Italy. I'm so hungry that anything would be good at this point."

He stiffened dramatically. "AH! Don't say something like that! Italian food is always delicious, not like Britain's yucky stuff! Don't say _anything_ would be good. Britain's food would _not_ be good. No, now you are eating with Italy and you will enjoy the fine flavor of tomato and spices. Not that bland crap he serves!" He fluttered away as if on a breeze and I leaned back to watch the spectacle.

After a few minutes, I was struck with a question. "Where's France?"

He stopped suddenly and turned to face me, flour held in his hands. His brown eyes were wide. "Big Brother France?"

I nodded patiently.

"He's…Ah… He's living with Germany right now?" Why was that in the form of a question? It explained why I never saw him though. I wondered vaguely if Germany had separated the two of us on purpose. I had connections to the Allies and France was also—likely—desperate to rejoin with America, Canada, and Britain. If for no other reason than they were his closest relatives.

"Is he alright?"

"Well, he's… France?"

I snorted, shaking my head. After a second, I began to laugh quietly. Italy looked at me as if I were psychotic. "For some reason, that makes sense." Italy sent me a bit of a smile and I couldn't help but to return it. "France is driving Germany up the wall, isn't he?"

"Big Brother France is…indisposed, but he does like to irritate Germany and Austria whenever he can." Indisposed? He knew a word like that? Looking up at him, I could see a haunted look in his eyes. Oh, indisposed meant that he was under house-arrest or was under in a similar situation as me. Probably under much more duress. "He does not want to cooperate. I mean, sometimes he does. And that's great! Other times…"

"He goes back and forth with it, huh?" That made sense, too, since France was split in support for the Nazi regime. He must have felt at war with himself if he was both hindering and helping the Axis. I continued to think this over as Italy cooked.

"No, Italy!"

I shifted, looking away from my conversation with Hungary. She paused as well, a smirk pulling at her lips. In the corner of the room, Italy's arms were flailing and his mouth was moving rapidly. Germany was cradling his head in his hands, looking every bit as stressed as one would imagine. It reminded me a bit of the anime, when Germany would have to deal with Feliciano's antics. He was being as patient as he could be, but it seemed Italy was slowly getting on his last nerve.

"Italy, no means no. What do you not understand?"

"BUT _WHY_?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Do you remember when you attempted to 'invade' Egypt? Who was it that had to bail you out, eh?"

Italy gave a pitiful whine at the back of his throat, "That was a good idea though! Egypt was an easy target. You know me, I like things to be easy!"

"Yes… I know that. It is part of the problem!"

Sending Hungary an amused smile, I decided to enjoy the entertainment as long as I could. With a full stomach, at that. Italy truly was one of the best cooks and his pasta was every bit as fantastic as one could imagine. There was only a bit of pasta in the soup-like broth. He seemed to know that I couldn't eat solid foods after so long with little to eat. I nearly started crying, but I withheld my tears at tasting it.

Despite my joy at having tried the titular character's cuisine, I was still a prisoner.

I knew that all of this ease was due to pass soon. Very soon.

"Germany, I can do a good job! She will tell me everything, won't you, _bella signora_?"

The attention of the room swung to me and I felt my mouth open. Italy looked to me imploringly, willing me to give him something. My gaze skittered over to where Germany was crossing his arms with a smug look. So, that was what this was all about.

"Und you are not interrogating the prisoner!" Germany stated. "She is not going to give up the information just because you have hugged her and waved a white flag in her face. Or because you fed her pasta. She's too stubborn for that."

Straightening my back, I smirked over toward Ludwig.

"Her persuasion has to be a bit more…difficult." When my smile began to fade, Germany chuckled mirthlessly. "You were right when you said that I would not harm you physically, Dr. Daniels. No, my way of getting information is a bit more drawn out. You see, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Especially where you are concerned."

"Germany—"

"Quiet, Italy!"

Sighing, I knew I wouldn't be able to fight him. Once again, I was powerless. It seemed to be something I was growing rather accustomed to. For a moment, I wished to be back home—in my world. Wishes though, were just that. Wishes. I'd long ago realized that wishes weren't going to come to my rescue. No one would.

That didn't matter though.

It didn't.

I was strong enough to keep my mouth closed.

I was strong enough.

I was _strong_.

My eyes narrowed in Germany's direction while Hungary placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Nothing to lose, huh?" My question made his eyes widen. "Then we're on an even playing field, Germany. I don't have anything to lose either. It seems we're both out of luck."

A pained expression crossed the blond's face before that agony was hidden behind an emotionless mask. "You think that I will not kill you?"

"No, I figure you will eventually."

"And… you're not afraid of death?"

Laughing lightly, I shrugged. "Of course I am. I don't _want_ to die." The hand on my shoulder grew tighter and I glanced up toward Hungary's face. She was pressing her lips together and a flash of anger was evident in her gaze. At least I had some support in the mother-hen. It seemed Germany's plan had backfired. We were both too smart for the game he had set up. Now, Hungary cared for me. Smiling slightly to calm her, I continued. "The situation is simple though, isn't it? You want information and I won't give it to you. If I die protecting my knowledge, then… so be it."

"Just tell him what he wants to know! Please!"

I winced at Italy's desperate cry, looking toward him for a moment before letting my eyes move to Greece's sleeping form. "I'm sorry, Italy. You know why I can't."

Heaving a breath, Germany seemed to reach a conclusion. His heavy boots thudded against the hardwoods, jolting Heracles from his slumber. A strong hand grabbed my upper arm and hauled me up. It wasn't hurtful like before, when he had learned of my knowledge. This time, he was careful—as if too harsh a grip would break me. "If that is the way you want it, fine by me. Come." Jerking me around, the Nation dragged me unceremoniously out of the room.

"Michelle!"

" _Signora!_ "

"…What's going on?" Greece's voice was the last thing I heard before I was out of earshot. He sounded half-asleep.

They—at least I think it was 'they'—were following along behind us as Germany pulled me down a flight of stairs. It appeared we were heading for a small room at the end of a dark, dank hallway. The basement of Austria's manor was something like a dungeon of some castle. My heart thundered in my chest. It was even more terrifying than when Prussia and Spain had kidnapped me.

This time, there was not even a _possibility_ of escape. I struggled to remain upright, my bare feet catching crevices in the stone flooring. I gasped as a jagged piece of rock caught my heel, tearing the skin.

When we reached the room, Germany pulled me in front of him and lowered his face to mine. I gasped, withdrawing from his proximity. For a moment, I was terrified that he was going to punch me, but instead, he looked at me with haunted eyes. I stilled, breath catching at the pain there. "Tell me," he whispered. "Please, tell me what you know. If you do, I won't—"

"Germany," I tried to ignore how scared I was. My head shook. "I can't. I'm-I'm sorry."

His gaze dropped to the floor. "Tell me how to end it faster."

"I can't."

"Michelle!" Hungary and Italy were rushing down the stairs. I looked up into Germany's face.

He sighed, shaking his head. With a shove, I stumbled back into the small room. The back of my legs struck a something—the end of a cot—and I sucked in a lungful of damp air. Coolness struck my skin and made me shiver. My stare snapped back to Ludwig as he began to shut the metal door. "You will tell me, Dr. Daniels. You won't have a choice."

"You're the one with no choice, though. Right?" I muttered. His eyes widened for a split-second, making me wonder if I had actually seen the surprise on his face. In the next instant, his expression was passive once more.

"Michelle! Signora!"

I caught a fleeting glance of Italy and Hungary before the door was slammed shut. A shaking breath escaped me then, rattling my body. In my life, I had never been so afraid. This was what he wanted though. Germany was pitting me against every human's nightmare. Being alone. And here I was, locked into solitude. As much as I wanted to be brave and write off the fear, I couldn't. Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked around in the inky blackness.

The space became silent as the grave, for that was essentially the space I had been encased in. Six feet wide by six feet tall. Blindly, I edged along the edge of the cot. Nothing but a rough mattress sitting a few inches off the floor. Shivering from the coldness, I lowered myself onto the cot.

It was my prison, in the basement of Austria's home.

How long would I be kept in that place?

As long as it took for Germany to get what he wanted.

Well, I eased my back against the stone block wall and forced a weak smile. He'd be waiting forever then and I would never see the light of day, because I wasn't going to break.

I wasn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I would _never_ break.

In the darkness, it was easy to think.

In the darkness, it was easy to think too much.

Reasoning out the whole HetaOni crossover/timeline/issue had taken up quite a few hours or maybe it was days. The reason behind it was: I just couldn't figure out a reason behind it. Unless, it was that interpretive, adaptive plot hole that certain things fell into. Such as the seriousness of the situation being Hetalia had been mostly based during World War II while the authors had skimmed over the terrible atrocities that occurred.

The humor was there (in the Hetalia world), but it was marred.

Seeing Italy's torn image as a vision had shaken me more than I had realized at the time.

It could have been the same sort of idea. Since HetaOni was based on the adaptation of the adaptation, there was bound to be some discrepancies. Furthermore, it seemed that there was also some Ao Oni mixed into the make-up of the fan produced game.

That would further complicate the translation from this world to my own. Maybe the world of HetaOni existed alongside this particular realm. Athena did say that there were many different worlds with infinite possibilities. Did that mean that some were closer than others? That some _interacted_ with others?

Would HetaOni occur in _this_ world or was that another world entirely?

If that was the case, then did that bring along any other types of fan creations or alternate verses?

Did those verses lay atop each other like the layers of a baklava? Thin layers on thin layers.

If that made any sense, then I had been in the darkness for far too long.

That was getting into quantum mechanics and paradoxes that I simply didn't have the _energy_ to consider, especially in my present state.

Anyway, it wasn't really my area of expertise.

Just a simple history teacher. Professor.

No, teacher. It had been a year since I taught in a college setting.

A simple teacher.

What did I know about physics and quantum mechanics and varied verses?

It was all too tiring.

On the second day, I gave up trying to figure it out.

I was too tired to bother.

And what did it matter anyway? It didn't affect my immediate situation.

When I heard a noise outside the cell door, I raised my voice as loud as I could. It was scratchy and sore from lack of use and lack of water, but I was able to make the words come out anyway.

"Germany, I won't—I won't tell you anything."

"…You will, Dr. Daniels."

The deep threat in his tone was enough to make me shiver.

I'm alone.

I can do this.

_"Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary, tyme."_

Too much.

Not enough.

I'm strong.

I'm strong…

Hot water.

Be strong.

By the fifth day (night?), I was beginning to question my resolve… and my sanity.

I was somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.

In that twilight, I felt freer than I had in a long while. Nearly a month and a half in captivity. I wasn't even sure of that frame of time anymore. I could have been in that darkness for weeks or months and I never would have known.

Time was meaningless. So was color. My eyes hurt from the darkness.

Every single time that I considered giving up the information and knowledge that I possessed, a voice would ring out from the shadows. It seemed my determination had taken the form of a particularly loudmouthed Nation and he very much loved to make his opinions known.

"Geez, Shelly! You can't tell 'em that! If you tell that Kraut about my victory at Normandy, what do ya think he's gonna do, huh? Call it a day and let me take the beach? Haha! Hell no, he'll double his forces and make sure I lose the engagement. And you know what a big V-day that was! France finally got the hell out of Germany's house for good!"

When I didn't respond, he sighed. I could imagine his head falling forward. I couldn't actually see the hallucination in the pitch black that surrounded me. I could just hear him. And, with America, that was always enough.

"Think of it this way, Shelly. If you die, you could have a high school named after ya! HAHAHA!"

"Britain was there, too." I muttered, shaking my head.

"Huh?"

"That battle. Britain was there, too. So was Canada. Even Poland showed up eventually."

There was a snort, "Yeah. Sure, whatever. They were my backup and that means…I'M THE HERO!"

He went quiet for a long while and the thoughts of giving in faded for a time.

"You can do this, Michelle. I've got confidence in ya."

The Allies had to win at Normandy. It was one of the decisive victories of the war.

Another several hours (or days) passed before I was visited again. This time, America was less than pleased. He was damn near distraught. I could hear his voice quivering somewhere nearby. I kept my eyes closed, convinced that it was better to just believe he was there.

Instead of the chilling alternative.

_I'm alone._

"You never freakin' told me that you were from a different _dimension_! Not just the _future_ , Shelly, _another dimension_! How could you keep this from me?"

"I don't know," I muttered. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. A lot less complicated, you know. Besides, you weren't very forthcoming either. Undercover operative, my ass."

Hallucination-Alfred shifted and placed a hand on my shoulder. "So…how big is my fan base, huh? I know a hero like me has to have, like, a zillion screaming fans! I bet I'm cooler than all the comic book heroes, right?"

When I kept silent, he screeched and the walls seemed to vibrate.

"WHAT? I'm totally the hero! I should have so many fans! I bet I do! I bet I have more than Iggy!"

When I still didn't say anything, he sounded like he was choking on something. Maybe a hamburger.

"What? No _way_. NO FREAKIN' WAY! That guy can't have more fans than me. That's just…wrong. I'm younger and cooler and sexier and hell—I'M THE HERO!"

"You both have about the same amount, I think. The same amount of fans."

"THAT'S EVEN WORSE!"

I'm alone.

_To the me who lives at some point in time and who isn't alone._

I'm strong.

Alone. It's dark.

_To the me...who lives at some point in time..._

_and who isn't alone._

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Strong.

Be strong.

Hot water.

Time?

Dates. I don't know.

Are they...alright?

It's dark.

My foot hurts. The skin feels stretched and warm. It's painful. It hurts.

It hurts.

I can't do—No. I can.

I can do this.

I can.

I'm strong.

Strong...

For them.

Hot water.

Water. Please.

By the time Britain had entered my hallucinations, I was seriously contemplating giving in to Germany's demands. It would have been nice to hallucinate my parents or my siblings. Hell, my biker grandfather would have been a God-send from my developing insanity via parade of Nations through my unhinging mind.

It was like the Olympics, only with less fanfare and more silence.

A tad more crazy.

And a lot more English.

As it stood, I had moved past America-level crazy—that sort of slap-happy, slightly amused with the terrible situation, yet equally aware of how things could go wrong— _that_ sort of mentality.

Instead, I was now in Britain-level madness.

It wasn't a good sign.

Not a good sign at all.

"You _will not_ tell them anything, Daniels. You cannot risk it."

I couldn't even find the strength to respond. I hadn't had food in days, since Hungary had slipped bits of bread into my cell. She couldn't even see me. There was just enough space under the door to slide in some bits of bread. She didn't speak. That was a couple days ago. Or hours. I don't know. Instead of thinking on it, I just laid there and listened to Britain's commands. It seemed my unconscious mind saw Britain as a force of authority and thus, conjured (a good epithet) him to assail my waning determination.

"When he comes, do not tell him of anything, Michelle. You must remain strong. If you tell him, terrible things will occur. You will not be able to stop the downfall of certain Nations. If Germany wins, then the Axis powers win and you know what will happen."

When Germany arrived that day, he was met with silence.

After checking to see if I was dead, he stepped out of the room again and I heard someone call out my name. I struggled to see in the blinding light, but my eyes couldn't adjust. Who was so desperately trying to gain my attention?

Darkness fell again and I fell into it, passing out.

"You should release her. She'll die in there."

"Nein. I will—I will not allow her to die…She will not die. I-I need that information."

I can... do—

For them.

My stomach...

My foot…is…

" _Bella signora!_ "

Someone...

"Out, Italy!"

I can't—

I wanna go home.

Where?

I-I'm alone.

_To the me...who..._

It's not—fair.

Not fair.

I can't—

I can't.

I can't do this.

Not anymore.

No more.

No...

It hurts.

"Miss Daniels…" Shifting, I turned toward where I thought I heard a voice. My eyes were still closed. I didn't bother to open them. I knew what I would see. Nothing. It was a hallucination anyway. I couldn't stand this.

I couldn't stand it.

I couldn't—

"Michelle…are you awake?"

"She's weak. Too weak. Can you pick her up?"

"I _could_ …"

"Then do it, damn it. We don't have much time!"

I was aware then that I was being lifted from my cot. An arm under my legs and another under my shoulders. Fear lurched through me and I felt a surge of strength filter into my arms as I flailed about, trying desperately to escape. If whoever it was took me, I would be dropped somewhere in the countryside to rot. Or maybe a shallow grave with hundreds of other dead bodies. I would die. I was going to die. I was certain of it. I struggled as much as I could. A whimper was all I could manage instead of screams.

"Shh, shh. Hush now," a voice soothed as someone's hand swept over my face, brushing my hair away. The fingers were like ice. I shivered. "She's running a fever. Damn it, Germany. You will pay for this." It was a feminine voice, I realized. Cool hands grabbed my wrists and placed them back into my lap. "You take her. Take her now and run. You have to go quick. Once he realizes—once he knows—Oh, but I don't care! This is wrong."

What was she talking about?

If Ger-Germany knew what?

What was happening?

Was this real?

Was I dreaming again?

Dreams...

I had those. Lots of them.

All this.

I tried desperately to open my eyes, to see what was going on around me, but I couldn't summon the strength. Trying to talk, I only got so far as to make a grunt in the back of my throat.

"She is not stable enough for travel. And we have a long trip to make."

"You think I don't know that? She's not stable at all. If we leave her here though, she'll die. That's the end of that. And maybe Germany doesn't remember, but we do. We remember. Let's just…Let's get her out of harm's way, alright?"

That was Hungary's voice.

The world was starting to become quiet, hushed. Muted as if I were under ten feet of water. Or as if I had cotton in my ears. I was losing consciousness again, but I strained to hear as much as I could before losing myself to the blackness once more. I had to know who was carrying me, who was saving me from that place. Or was I being saved?

Rescue seemed like a dream.

Yes, dreams.

And nightmares.

Too many.

I shivered.

"Careful with her," Hungary commanded.

The arms shifted me a bit and there was a longsuffering sigh.

It was a Nation, clearly, but I couldn't quite place the voice from before. All I could feel was a pair strong arms and a warm chest. All I could hear was a calm baritone.

"We waited too long," Hungary whispered. "She may not survive." She brushed at my hair again, fondly. This was the motherly side that had been taking care of me for weeks. She had become attached to me as much as I had become fond of her. She had kept me alive. She shouldn't have sounded so guilty.

"You must go now. Run, damn it. We waited too long. Take care. Be careful."

The warm, humid air hit my skin and I shivered involuntarily. Arms curled me toward a firm chest.

The voice of the man holding me was weary and tired as he drawled, "Well, Elizabeta, it's better late than never at all."

After that, I blacked out.


	14. Occupation

" _The word heroism I am afraid does not render the least of those acts of self-sacrifice of the Greeks, which were the defining factor in the victorious outcome of the common struggle of the nations, during WWII, for the human freedom and dignity. If it were not for the bravery of the Greeks and their courage, the outcome of WWII would be undetermined." –_ Winston Churchill, paraphrased from one of his speeches to the British Parliament on April 24, 1941

Teaching. It was both a pain and a pleasure. I hadn't grown up thinking I would be a teacher. In fact, I loathed the very idea of it. Some part of me still loathed the occupation, but for different reasons than my younger self. When I entered college, I wanted to be a physicist. And, though I was quite good with the work, I couldn't keep up with the math. I was scorned because of it, too. It was like people viewed me as less of a person or scholar simply because I couldn't acquire the skill to perform advanced calculus. After a semester, I changed majors. I wasn't athletic or artistic, all I had was academics.

It was too hard.

I had always been an academic, but math was something that I had always struggled with.

For a short time after becoming 'undeclared,' I panicked. I didn't know what to do with my life. My studies were steadily growing stronger and stronger, but my failures in mathematics had ruined my self-esteem. I wasn't used to failure or low grades. First-World Problems, I suppose. Funny to think that my biggest problem was once something as simple as what to major in…If only things remained that simple.

I sort-of stumbled onto my path.

Mostly because I was late registering for classes.

Dr. Gregory Palmer was one of the toughest professors I'd ever taken. He was stern, straight-faced, and could make even a seasoned vet sweat under his glare. He was the professor that freshman cowered away from in the hallways and seniors took extra care to avoid.

A big man with a big beard and big blue eyes.

I took my first college history course with him. HIST 1001.

"You are history, you know. Every single person in this room is a part of history. Either you're a result of it or you're going to make it. We are history. You're history in the making." These sorts of wise statements were sprinkled throughout his lectures about the American Revolution and the Civil War. He was a professor of American history and his primary research focus was in Colonial Studies and American Biker Studies.

Really, you would have never pegged him for the biker type.

He cornered me after class one time and that was when my pathless life was given some direction.

"You did well on that exam, Daniels. I enjoyed your essay, actually. It was an interesting argument. To think of Britain as a brother-like figure to the Colonial Americas. It would make sense. The metaphor was solid."

"I'll confess…There's this show that I watch. The countries are personified. They have Britain as the older-brother, father-figure of America. I just used the analogy when describing the taxes. It's not very original. Actually, it might be a little lame." I shouldered my bag and flushed down at my Converse.

I glanced to him again. He studied me for a few moments before smirking, shaking his head. "It's good to make use of what resources you have. If that show is what helps you on the exam, who am I to judge anything that helps my students learn?" Jerking my head around, I remember watching him erase the chalk from the board. "That's what I enjoy about teaching, you know? I learn something new every day. I get to watch students improve and improve. If you keep improving, I wonder where you'll go?" That stern-faced professor turned to me and gave the barest hint of a smile. "This show have a name? It sounds pretty interesting."

"Hetalia. It's an anime."

Dr. Palmer shrugged his broad shoulders and grabbed his briefcase. _"I'll check it out."_

Suddenly, I wanted to be just like him. I wanted to be a teacher, a professor. I wanted to learn new things every day. I wanted to encourage my students. I wanted to impart the same wisdom upon them as he had upon me. I wanted to study history—not just because of Hetalia, but because I loved the subject. I wanted to be supportive to my kids and help them find themselves, too.

Even though he promised to be at my hooding ceremony for my doctorate, Dr. Palmer was unable to attend. Just a month before my defense, he succumbed to lung cancer. Four packs of Marlboros a day does that, I guess. I sang at his funeral. "How Great Thou Art" and "Scarborough Fair." And I told his wife that he was the greatest professor I ever had. She cried and told me that I was his favorite student and that he spoke of me often.

If he could see me, in the midst of this crisis…He'd snort and shake his head, saying that I had "really stepped in it this time."

When I woke up, I was shocked to find myself in a rather nice room. It looked to be expensive with beautiful gold-leafed décor and a supremely comfortable bed. The linens were soft and luxurious. It was my best guess that I had been transferred into another location. That or heaven was a four-star hotel. Shaking my head, I lifted a hand and rested the fingers over my eyes.

"It appears our young guest has finally awoken," a smooth voice said. I jerked in fright and looked over toward the right, breath catching at the sight of a dark-skinned young man sitting at a nearby table. A book was laid open in front of him as he held it with his right forearm arm. His other arm was used to prop her head up. He looked utterly spent, tired. A white keffiyeh rested atop his head, flowing over his shoulders, and his eyes were the dullest forest green I'd ever seen. "Are you alright?"

Where was I?

Where...

My gaze skittered around the room again to gather clues, but it seemed that he had already figured me out.

"You are in Alexandria," he murmured. "Egypt."

"Oh." One of my hands automatically went to my throat. It felt dry and rough, hurting just a bit as I tried to talk. The man rose from his seat and strode to what looked to be a water pitcher. As he poured a cup, he spoke in a subdued tone.

"I am Gupta Muhammad Hassan, a friend of Heracles." At my surprised expression, he smiled slightly and handed me the glass of water. As I drank, he settled himself in the chair beside my bed. There was a long-suffering sigh. "He intended to stay with you, but unfortunately he had to return to Germany to avoid suspicion. Germany has been in a rage for some time now. Greece wanted to avoid any ramifications should his transgressions against the Reich be discovered."

Sipping a small amount of water, I glanced to him again. "You're—"

"Yes, I am a Nation." He nodded. "You cannot know how strange it feels to tell someone that. Humans are usually forbidden to know. Only Heads of State and a few select others are aware of our existence. Though our secret _does_ get out from time to time." There was a flash of amusement in his eyes before that emotion was swept away in something else entirely. "You have been unconscious for about three weeks, Miss Daniels."

"Three weeks, but that's—"

"Do not strain you're voice. I shall tell you all that has occurred since you became unconscious and I will inform you of the plan from this point forward."

Gupta—Egypt, I surmised— seemed to be one for order, although his tone was quiet, it seemed that he enjoyed having control of the situation. With the potential invasions and constant threat, I would be he found some comfort in any situation he could control.

"Greece brought you here because his Head of State resides with me. The monarch and his entourage have sought sanctuary here amongst the citizens of Alexandria since May. As I can see from the expression on your face, you are aware that my government is rather sympathetic to the fascist Italians. Soon enough, the Greek King will depart for Britain. You shall accompany him and his entourage to the safety of London. Once there, you will be able to reconnect to the Allies.

"Concerning your prolonged state of unconsciousness, it would seem that your body was severely malnourished. You suffered from extreme dehydration. Your right foot was infected, so much so that the infection entered the bone." I flinched, glancing toward my feet. "Do not worry. The infection has been removed and your skin is nearly healed. You will be in a cast for another week or so. Your heel bone, however, was removed. You…will never walk the same again." He shifted, "When you arrived here, you were in critical condition. For some time, it was difficult to know if you would survive or not, but—as Greece surmised—you are a stubborn woman.

"Greece has also informed me of your future knowledge. It is truly remarkable, to say the least. To have such knowledge is quite a burden, is it not?"

I froze, eyes widening at his dull tone. He was being empathetic, not patronizing. The way he slipped in that statement, just at the end of everything he was saying, it caught me off guard. "W-Wait. You—You know…You know the future?"

His lips pressed together and his arms crossed over his chest. "It is not that simple. My mother had many interesting beliefs, some of which have been handed down to me. The Ancients were wise and the First Nations were even wiser. Instead of different times, I am more or less aware of different realities. They exist atop of one another and overlap at certain times in history. Suffice to say, I am aware that this world is quite different from yours. The possibilities are much broader."

He was talking in circles to me and I could see a flash in his eyes that suggested he found my confusion entertaining.

Well, if he never got to confuse humans with this sort of explanation, then I suspected he was taking some rare pleasure in it.

Still tired, I didn't bother to try and _figure out_ what he was saying. Instead, I just asked straight out. "What does all that mean?"

Gupta smiled slightly and leaned forward, "It means that I know things that I should not, Dr. Daniels."

Dr. Daniels.

" _You will, Dr. Daniels."_

_Dr. Daniels._

Gasping, I threw the sheet from over my legs and stumbled out of the bed as quickly as I could. Fear overwhelmed every single fiber of my being. And I really couldn't rationalize it. For some reason, that particular form of my name frightened me too much. Far too much! Too much! Shivering, I weakly made my way to the corner of the room and glanced down at my bare legs.

They were thin and bony. There was a cast on my right leg, explaining why I had difficulty moving. I couldn't feel it though, through the pain. I knew that it should have been painful. Glancing over my frail arms, I tried not to lose control. I had been a healthy woman before my captivity, but that didn't seem to be the case any longer. My head swam as I picked my eyes up to the African Nation's shocked face. Breathing heavily, I didn't bother to care about my appearance. I was just _too scared_. The only other Nation to call me by that name was Germany and…and…terrible things followed.

"I won't—I won't tell you anything. Nothing. I won't do it." The words spilled out before I could stop them.

"No, that—" Egypt made the mistake of taking a single step toward me.

Feeling cornered, I gasped and backed into the wall. My elbow cracked against the stone. Scared. Frightened. "No! I—I—I can't! I—I won't!"

"What's going on in here?" Another person entered the room then, eyes going wide at the scene before him. I cowered back even further into the corner, pulling my arms over my stomach. Somewhere in my rapid thoughts I wondered if I had been _that_ badly scarred by my imprisonment. The answer was obvious enough. I could barely keep myself from screaming. "Oh, my dear. Gupta, what has happened?"

"Your Majesty, she became scared due to a mistake on my part. It seems her time in Austria was far worse than Heracles first thought."

It wasn't that bad, I thought tiredly.

Not bad. It wasn't bad.

It could have been much worse.

So much worse.

Germany was going easy on me because of his internal conflict. If Hitler had full control, I doubted very much that I would have lived. No, I would have perished in that dungeon. Germany wouldn't have allowed Hungary to sneak me food. He had the ability to keep Elizabeta away from me, but he didn't. I wasn't stupid.

At least, not concerning this.

My attention was caught by the regal man stepping into the room.

Egypt took a cautionary step back. "Michelle Daniels, this is King George II of Greece. Your Majesty, this is the girl that Heracles spoke of."

The man was in his forties and was likely handsome in his youth. A distinct jawline, slightly hooked nose, and receding dark hair. He looked kind enough, but there was certainly an air of regality about him in the way his shoulders were squared and his back was straight. "Is that so? How very interesting. Heracles told me that you're aware of the National representations, Miss Daniels." With deliberately slow movements, the King moved to sit in a nearby chair. "Please lie back down. You are in no danger here. You are safe."

He wouldn't say that if he knew—

"At first, I did not believe Heracles when he said that you knew the future. I've never been one to believe in such things."

The waning strength in my legs gave out and I stumbled to land on the edge of the mattress. Neither man moved to help me as I maneuvered myself back into the bed. I didn't have the strength to fight. Egypt approached carefully and draped a blanket over my bare legs. His eyes never strayed from my face. "You are still very weak, Miss Daniels. It would be best if you remained in bed for the next few days. You will be very slowly introduced to hard food."

King George shifted in his chair and looked me over. He sighed, "I will not ask anything of you. To know the future is a dangerous thing. My Heracles trusted me enough to place you in my care. Until such a time as you are reunited with your guardians, I will protect you."

"Why?" I coughed, taking the proffered water from Egypt. "E-Excuse me. I mean, why are you helping me?"

"Heracles asked me to," the monarch responded as if it were obvious. "My Nation does not make rash decisions, Miss Daniels. He _chose_ to save you from Germany. He was able to get you safely to Alexandria. For him to put forth so much effort, it means that there was something about you that he thought was worth saving…and it was likely _not_ your possession of future knowledge." At my stunned expression, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. "Will you tell me what happened?"

A rush of panic lurched through my chest.

Egypt stepped forward once more, "Your Majesty, perhaps that would be a question for another time. As she has just awoken, she might wish to rest."

"He locked me up," I said. Both men turned to look at me, shocked that I had offered something of an answer. If a vague one. "That's it."

That wasn't it.

That was nowhere near 'it.'

I was left for days…or weeks… alone in the darkness of that cellar. I wasn't given food. It was a kind of psychological torture that I _never_ wanted to endure again. Just thinking about that time made my body quake. I couldn't—think of that. I—couldn't—It—

When I was living a normal life, I never thought I would sink into insanity. Now, I could feel it clawing at the edges of my mind.

Seeing my haunted expression, the King brushed his hands over his pants and stood. "Well, Miss Daniels, I believe you should rest. We will likely leave in a few weeks, if the political climate permits."

"Thank you."

My murmured gratitude made the man pause momentarily before sending me a comforting smile and disappearing through the door. My attention swung over to where Gupta was standing. His green eyes were emotionless, but he looked somewhat intrigued. This was one Nation that I didn't quite know how to handle. There wasn't much about him in the show and his character was barely fleshed out. I was in the dark again. I shook my head to get rid of the shadows.

"I'm sorry about…earlier."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, "It is understandable."

Fatigue was slowly starting to overtake me, but I fought it off. I wanted to get answers. I wanted to know everything about what had happened. The journey couldn't have been easy. What had Greece endured to rescue me? Was he alright? Was Hungary safe? What about America and Britain? New York? Delaware? I wanted to know what Egypt knew about time and reality. What if it was possible for him to send me home? At the moment—despite my concern for the others— _that_ was my question.

Maybe if I could leave this world, then I could return to my normal life.

Maybe things would right themselves.

"Would you know how to send a person from one reality to another?" When his eyes went wide, I elaborated. "Britain can't send me home. I know he can't. I was told that there could be another path."

The young man considered me for a few moments before sighing. "I do not have the resources to help you. Simply harboring you and the King has already put a strain on me. If I push any further, I am afraid of what might happen."

He was afraid of Italian/German control. His government was _very_ pro-Italian, from what I could remember. He was torn between his loyalty to Britain and his own political leanings. I knew that much at the very least. Italy had already tried to overtake Egypt once and failed miserably to do so. Ultimately, the Allied forces would push the Germans out of Egypt's territory, but the damage will have already been done. Egypt would serve as a turning point in the war.

What was coming, he didn't even know.

No one knew.

Except me.

Just me.

Always _just_ me.

"I see," I replied to him evenly. I wouldn't lose composure in front of him. Instead, I pushed that feeling of panic to the corner of my mind and tried to put on an emotionless mask. "Y-You need to conserve your energy."

"…You should rest."

Even though I was exhausted, I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes. I'd been in—Well, I just wanted to enjoy the light filtering through the curtains. I wanted to feel the heat of the sun on my skin. Egypt left a few moments later, giving his word that he would return at sundown. I gave him the barest hint of a nod, thinking of something else. Vaguely, I wondered if perhaps Alfred and Johnny were worried for me. Really, I couldn't say either way. Both were flighty enough to forget, but both were also loyal enough to search for me.

Neither would sacrifice the peace of the United States to mount a rescue.

And I merely got lucky that Greece decided to play hero.

I was lucky.

Somehow, that was getting harder and harder to believe.

Dragging my right foot a bit, I hobbled onto the small veranda outside of the sitting room. It was my first time leaving that bedroom in days as Egypt had finally deemed me well enough to travel around the house for short periods of time. Nights were particularly horrible and I was always exhausted. I couldn't sleep in the darkness. I always needed a light. This didn't help me to sleep or get rest though. I was just dead tired, so tired that my feet dragged. This made walking even more difficult. Egypt held gently to my elbow and aided me along, muttering that my ability to walk would get better with time. It still didn't change the fact that half my foot was missing.

I knew that the infection in my foot was far worse than either Egypt or the King wished to disclose. Bad enough that a portion of my heel bone had to be removed. It had spread into my bone via my blood stream.

With that realization, I wondered just how long I had been in that cellar.

For staph to enter the bone…

Staph infection was something I was terribly familiar with. When my father had cancer, he got a particularly bad infection, so much so that we had to "call the family in" for what could have been the last days. He ended up surviving, but I could remember just how close he had gotten to death. I was eleven. Things like that stick with you.

Considering the fact that penicillin was the only antibiotic strong enough to fight a staph infection during the forties, it was my belief that I had been pumped full of the stuff and that the infected skin and bone had been removed.

Enough of my foot was gone to mess up my balance.

Just enough to give me a lasting reminder of my time there.

A souvenir, one could say.

I always did want to travel.

"You can lean on me a bit more," Egypt offered quietly. I sent him a grateful smile and did so, sighing at the difficulty of moving with a cast.

"I'm sorry for all this," I muttered. "I know you have better things to do."

He said nothing in response, instead focusing on helping me around the corner.

The warm, dry air of Alexandria was a wonderful blessing compared to the cold dampness of that cellar—that cellar—

No, I wasn't going to think on that place. Shivering in the wave of hot air, I eased from Gupta's arm and settled myself in a thatched chair on the veranda. "Your land is beautiful."

Egypt paused, considering me for a moment. He then looked toward the city. His dark skin glistened in the sunlight. "That is not a compliment that I often receive."

"Well, it isn't full of trees, but the colors and the air…It's refreshing in its own way."

"Us desert Nations appreciate our climates. Most of us have had quite a long time to become accustomed to the dry air and sand." Gupta gestured around the veranda. A few lovely plants sat here and there, bringing green into the space. Intricate tiles colored the floor. Reds. Greens. Blues. Golds. And white. "I will return later today. If you need to return inside, please ring that bell." He motioned toward a small service bell on the small side table. "An attendant of the house will come and aid you."

"Thank you," I nodded.

Sitting in the shade, I had quite a lot of time to think. Which seemed to be all I could do in this world, think about everything and how it all affected the Nations. Think. Think too much. Or not enough. With Britain winning Halfaya Pass, it was clear that some portions of history were already changing, most likely due to the letter I left. From what I could glean from Gupta's few words, Germany's charge on Russia was slow-going and Hungary had just declared war on the Russians as well.

That all fit with the history I knew.

My eyes narrowed at a random crack in the floor.

If I did end up with Britain again, and thus with the Allies, would they ask for more information?

The thought honestly frightened me. I'd exhausted my own stubbornness.

If Greece had left me in Austria, there was no doubt in my mind that I would have cracked.

And that was even more terrifying.

I wasn't nearly as strong as I thought myself to be.

I never was.

"You are looking better, Miss Daniels."

Turning, I noticed that the ruler of Greece had stepped onto the veranda. Gasping, I tried to stand only for the man to hold out a hand, palm out. I sank back down into the chair again.

"Do not worry. There's no need to stand on formality. Besides, I am hardly a King at this point." Giving me a slightly amused smirk (though there was certainly a lot of sadness there as well), he gestured toward another chair on the veranda. "Do you mind? I find that the house is becoming quite…stagnant."

"Sure. I could use the company, I daresay." Someone other than a Nation. Even if he was a monarch, he was still human, which was comforting. Some sense of normalcy. I hadn't spoken to a human in months. "I can't say I ever expected to meet a King."

"I fear that I am a king without a country." Even if he didn't mean to sound imploring, I could hear the desperation there. Perhaps I was being overly sensitive, expecting everyone to want information from me. Shaking my head, I focused my attention on the clear blue skies above. Could I offer this man some comfort, at least a little bit? "You are very strong, Miss Daniels."

Turning, I felt my mouth open and close at the compliment. "I'm—I'm not very strong at all. That's what got me into this situation in the first place."

King George's head shook, "No. Your strength has kept this battle as even as it can be. For that, I must thank you. Many would have given away the secrets they possessed without thought. Desperation will make people do things they would never do otherwise." Seeing my downcast eyes, he cleared his throat and brought my attention to his face again. "No matter what you believe about yourself, Miss Daniels, you are a woman of courage. The Nations are strong and, at times, they do not adhere to the same sense of morality as humanity. They hold to a different code of conduct."

Despite my intense dislike for the Germanic Nation, I couldn't help but to mumble a defense. "I don't think Germany's actions adhere to _his_ moral compass. I-I don't think that _any_ of the Nations have a choice in this war."

George's thin brows rose at my statement, "Does this justify their actions?"

I shifted so that I could face him entirely. My left leg curled underneath my body as the right dangled over the side of the chair. It felt extra-heavy from the weight of the cast. "No, it doesn't. None of this violence is justified, but—Well, we fight because we have something to fight for. Those motivations are different for everyone."

"Germany as well?"

Tensing, I gritted my teeth. The man across from me smiled slightly, signaling that he wasn't trying to pull me into an argument so much as just trying to have a discussion. "I can't say that I will ever _like_ Germany. Not after—"My head shook and I sighed, rubbing my forehead. "Still, he was _conflicted_ over what he was doing. The fact that he looked guilty and the fact that he seemed to somehow hate his own actions, that was enough to convince me that he was struggling with his own conscience. He didn't have to allow Hungary to slip me food, but he did. He looked guilty. That at least means he _has_ one. A moral compass, that is. He knows what he's doing is wrong, but—He doesn't have a choice."

After a few moments, the King laughed. "You're a very open-minded young woman. Most hate Germany for his actions without thought."

"It's not open-mindedness. It's observation. Every Nation has a past and every Nation makes bad decisions. Including mine. Yours. Now, I _can_ say with certainty that I hate the Nazi party."

"Who doesn't?"

I snorted, "Point."

He sighed, running a hand over his balding head. The action convinced me that he was likely going bald faster due to the stress of the war. "Let's change subjects, shall we? Could you tell me something positive? Something good from after the war?"

"After the war?" I didn't know what to make of his question. Was he wanting information?

He nodded, smiling calmly up at the sky. "Yes. This war will end—for better or worse. I do not wish to know anything like that. It is your secret to keep. I would love something to look forward to though."

Biting my lip, I considered the ramifications. "The Olympics will return to Athens in about…sixty-something years."

His jaw dropped. Laughing lightly, I watched as he seemed to grow excited by the very concept. Like a child with a new present, the King turned to me and gave a single ecstatic laugh. "Truly? Could—Could you tell me of it?"

What would be the harm? It would give this man some comfort, something to look forward to, even if he would likely never like to see it. I felt my own excitement growing, as if I were feeding off of his enthusiasm. "I watched it when I was thirteen. The opening ceremonies grew more and more extravagant, becoming extremely theatrical. Greece put forward one of the most legendary opening ceremonies of the century. The stadium was built two hundred and twenty miles from Olympia."

"Olympia? Oh, how very interesting!" He leaned forward and laced his fingers together. "Tell me of the ceremony, please."

"Crystal clear water in the middle of the stadium. A moving picture screen—we have far advanced technology—connects Olympia and Athens through film, the ancient past and the present. Drums beat a rhythm similar to a heartbeat and a flaming arrow is shot to ignite the rings of the Olympics. A boy travels across the water with the Greek flag in a folded paper boat."

"A flaming arrow. Yes, very clever." He nodded, resting a hand on the side of his face. "It symbolizes life in our ancient culture. Continue, continue."

I grinned, remembering the televised production of the ceremony. It was oddly comforting to remember such memories. "The Cycladic head rises from the water."

"You are very well-versed to know of such ancient art."

"My mother was—is— very artistic. Anyway, math and science come next and the sculptures are brought forth from the water. Essentially, this marks the beginning of the classical period and the rise of humanity into a cultured state. The most beautiful string composition plays along with the sequence. A man stands on a cube and is able to maintain his balance as it rotates."

"The cube was symbolic of the world," the King stated excitedly. "They did do their research."

"Certainly, it would have been terrible if they didn't. The opening ceremony is all about showmanship and…well, arrogance. Each city tries to outdo the one before."

"Who did we outdo? Who went before us?"

"Sydney, Australia."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I imagine that was quite the show."

"Sydney has grown quite a bit." He motioned for me to continue my story of the ceremony and games. "From what I remember, Eros arrives and brings lovers together. Then, the parade of eras. From the prehistoric time of Greece to the modern times. It was beautiful. The Mycenaean era was gorgeous. I don't think that my description could possibly do the production justice. Theatre was then shown, as well as Hercules and others of the pantheon."

"Did they not show the Olympics?"

"Haha, they did indeed. Um, running, javelin, wrestling, and…discus. Yeah, and each of the actors were painted white, as they were meant to look like sculptures. Actually, from what I remember the shot-put competition was held in Olympia."

"Oh, how clever. Was every aspect of Greek history depicted?"

"Yes, I think so. Would you like me to give a summary as I'm sure you already know the history of your nation?" He grinned, nodding. "The Byzantine and the Ottoman Empires." He laughed at my summation. "The nineteen-seventeen modern Olympics were shown as Athens hosted those games."

"I was there for the reinstatement of the games!" He smiled broadly.

It was so interesting to see the monarch so happy and lively at the mention of his homeland. My heart felt a bit lighter. "Once the history segment concludes, there's nothing but drums. I'm—I think that there was a pregnant woman, who was symbolic of new life and possibility, but... I don't remember." Screwing my eyes shut, I tried to recall as many details as I could. "The drums start again. Everyone—past and future—march around the water. An olive tree rises from the center of the lake. And the water is drained from the space. Dry land appears. The Parade of Nations begins, with Greece entering last to thunderous applause." Sighing, I opened my eyes. "I can't recall anything else."

"That is plenty, Miss Daniels! You've made me quite proud. I cannot imagine how wondrous the games might be so many years into the future."

"They're wonderful," I assured. "I'm always amused during the Parade because the American athletes usually get the loudest applause." He looked at me quizzically. "If you've ever met the American Nation, you'd know why." The King gave an amused laugh.

"He's quite…spirited."

"Loud," I grinned.

"That as well." He conceded. "Who else has hosted in your time?"

Pressing my lips together, I tried to remember. "Atlanta, in the United States. Sydney, Athens, Beijing—"

"China?"

I nodded, "As well as London. They were the most recent when I was pulled back in time."

"And the Winter Games?"

"Oh, they've started in this time?"

King George nodded enthusiastically, "Of course! They began in 1924. Chamonix, France. I made sure to attend."

Laughing lightly, I hummed in thought. "I never paid much attention to the Winter Olympics, but I do know that Salt Lake City, a city in the United States, hosted. Oh, and Canada."

"They would have quite good weather to host such an event." His hands rubbed together excitedly. "You have given me a treasure, Miss Michelle. I find that in such dark times, it is good to have a light at the end of the darkest tunnels."

"Hope is a good thing," I agreed.

_Hope was the best source of energy and courage that I could quarry._

_And, in this place, hope was really all I had._

It was all I had.

Swallowing nothing, I looked down at my folded hands. They looked so pale in the sunlight. Like they hadn't seen the sun in a very long time. Pale, ghostly hands. A sick feeling swept through my stomach. I could have died. What kept me alive? "Hope is a very good thing," I murmured in a quieter tone.

The monarch smiled broadly and nodded to me, "Indeed Miss Daniels, hope is a marvelous and giddy thing!" Despite the fact that he was royalty, I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. It didn't quite matter that he was a ruler at the moment. It seemed we both needed that sense of ease—just a human speaking to another human. "Does the Olympic flame still burn?" I could see he was trying to distract me, to bring me back out of the darkness.

"It does," I felt the tug of a smile on my lips. "Of course, some things have changed..."

We continued the discussion for hours, moving on to his time as a soldier and the history of Greece that I didn't know. It was a relief, to discuss things not related to the war. He kept me distracted and I kept him from thinking of his homeland. We were escaping our own troubles. I told him of my family, how my great-grandfather hailed from Crete. A dark expression crossed his face before I changed the subject to a safer subject: food. Like any Greek, King George could converse about food until the sun went down.

A bark sounded to my right and I glanced into the house through the open doors. The ruler across the way mirrored my actions. Pulling my brows together in confusion, I watched as a thin dog walked up to sniff my hand. It then glanced over its shoulder to King George, seeming to consider which of us was the more likely individual to pet him. The dog then looked back at me and barked, growling a bit at the back of its throat.

"Anubis, heel."

I jerked back, surprised that the thing didn't like me. Dogs were always my favorite animal. My gaze skittered over to where Egypt was stepping out into the dimming sunlight. "Yours?"

He nodded, " _Anapa_. Or, as you might say, Anubis."

"The god of death? Is that a good name for a dog?"

"It is when you're trying to intimidate someone." Gupta shrugged his shoulders. The humorous response with such a straight face made the statement even funnier. I smiled slightly and covered my mouth with my hand. "Miss Daniels, you seem to be feeling quite a bit better."

"I had a nice conversation with His Majesty."

Standing, the King moved to place a hand on Egypt's shoulder and sent a smile toward me. "It was my pleasure, Miss Michelle. I look forward to speaking more in the future. I shall now take my leave. There must be a dinner with my name on it… somewhere." With that said, the man quickly left. For a moment, I wondered if he had simply been tasked with looking after me while Egypt was gone.

"We should return you to your room. You need rest."

Nodding, I pulled myself to stand. For a moment, my balance was thrown, but I caught myself. Egypt stopped midway to catching me. Smiling, I looked toward him and shook my head. "Let me try and make it on my own."

He pressed his lips together, dark skin glistening in the setting sun. It was then that I could see the majestic Nation of Egypt staring back at me. The same sort of ancient knowledge that Greece possessed, the same warrior gleam, was hidden in those green depths that looked out on the world with a dull sort of interest. I wondered at him, mouth falling open a bit.

No matter how many times I caught sight of the Nations, whenever they were truly Nations and not masquerading as their lighter-hearted selves, it was always breathtaking. There lurked a certain magnificence in every single one of them. It seemed that this was especially so in the eldest of the Nations, for it seemed they had experienced the most. I wondered vaguely what China would be like, if I had the chance to meet him.

Egypt's ancient history was evident in his eyes and the tan of his skin was akin to the way his landscape was painted sienna. It was an odd romantic sort of notion.

Noticing my stare, I looked to the ground and tried to focus more on walking.

"You may ask questions," Egypt assured. "I can see you are curious."

"I'm a teach—I _used to be_ a teacher. I can't help but to be intrigued." Gritting my teeth as a wave of pain crawled up my leg, I tried to work through the ache without alerting him.

It seemed my attempt to hide the pain was noticed and the Nation stepped forward, looping an arm under my shoulders. "You can ask for help, you know," his lightly accented voice told me. "I would not have taken you in if I was not prepared to help you."

His words somehow struck a chord.

All at once, I felt my walls begin to crumble.

No! No!

I was stronger than this! I was stronger! I couldn't lose control. I could wait until he was gone for the night. I had to. I always did. Leaning my head back, I stared up at the ceiling. It was gold-leafed and extravagant. The tears seeped back into my eyes.

"You choke back your tears. Why?"

Turning my face to him, I felt a tear escape my eye and slowly trail down my cheek. It was utterly embarrassing and I quickly brushed it away. "I'm not crying."

Egypt considered me for a moment before looking back down the hall. He chose to say nothing. For that much, I was grateful. We hobbled down the hallway, carefully avoiding a few vases and ferns as we moved toward my bedroom.

Once we arrived, Gupta cautiously lowered me onto the edge of my bed. And, in a move that I didn't see coming, lowered himself to kneel in front of me. The action caught me so off-guard that I struggled for what to say. This sort of contact wasn't particularly characteristic of Middle Eastern or North African culture. A man being in such close proximity to a woman, especially in the forties.

"What—"

"I am not one for emotions, Miss Daniels. I know that. Once you reach my age, you cannot help but to set aside your emotions—especially with a past such as mine. And especially where humans are concerned. That being said, it does not mean that I possess no emotions at all. Nor does it mean that I cannot be empathetic or sympathetic to your situation."

I never once thought him to be emotionless. My mouth opened, but he held up a hand to silence me.

"The things you have endured…I am sorry that you have had to suffer during your time in this world." He shifted, sighing. With a slow-moving hand, he reached up and pulled the keffiyeh from his head, uncovering a mop of brown curls. He sighed and lowered his head. "Nations are difficult to understand, Miss Daniels. We are so different from humans and yet, we are similar. You were right when you surmised that we have no choice, but only to a degree."

"You… were listening?"

He lifted his head and pressed his lips together, considering me for a moment. "Do not misunderstand. It was not in an effort to learn anything of the future. As I have already told you, I know your burden better than most." Egypt shook his head. "No, I wanted to hear of your impressions regarding Germany's actions. You are the first human since the sixteenth century to be thus treated by a Nation, other than high ranking officials."

"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

He pulled back before frowning. In a slow movement, he stood and moved over to the nearby chair, the white cloth of his keffiyeh held in his tan hands. "No, I trust you. I do not believe you will tell anyone. Rather, I was afraid that you would come to hate us for the actions of a few."

"Hate—Hate you?" Tears pricked at my eyes and I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling to hide them. I still refused to lose my composure with the usually quiet man. I sighed, "You can't judge a whole group of people based on the actions of one person. In this case, honestly, I can't judge _Germany_ when I haven't walked a mile in his shoes, much less a hundred years or so."

Egypt's brows shot up in question.

"No, it's really _not_ that I'm open-minded. I still won't be able to confront Germany ever again without _remembering_. And it's going to take a while for me to recover from that…experience. With that being said, I can't look at this…this world with an overly illogical and emotional eye. There's still a _war_ going on, despite my predicament. Whether I like it or not, I'm almost entirely reliant on the Nations for protection. Besides, each of you has a history. And I know that. To be ignorant of it would be to devalue it. If there's anything I value, it's history."

Egypt was silent for a long time and I took to playing with the trim of the duvet. We sat for nearly ten minutes before he spoke. "When Greece asked me to take care of you, I thought he was joking. You know he has a very dry sense of humor."

I glanced over to his thoughtful face.

"He truly cared and believed that you were _worth_ the effort. I did not understand at the time. In fact, at first I was quite resentful. I have many issues regarding my government and with Italy and Germany vying for my lands…I could not spare the time for some human girl." He lifted his eyes from his hands and looked toward me. "Despite what you might think, you are… a treasure."

My eyes widened, dumbfounded by his words. "N-No—I—"

His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. Standing, he placed the white cloth back onto his head and turned his green eyes to me. "Your knowledge does not dictate your worth, Miss Daniels. It never has. It never will. Your actions dictate your worth. And your actions make you a treasure." When I failed to formulate a response to this, he gave the slightest of smiles. "It is for that reason that I will protect you from your enemies."

"Gupta—"

"You may call me Egypt. It is a name that is only used by those who have permission. You have my expressed permission."

What had I done to receive his acceptance and protection? My answers didn't seem at all remarkable, but I felt like the relationship between us had somehow shifted. Before it was utterly formal, between a host and a guest. Now, I wondered if perhaps we had the chance to become friends. Even in this horrible time in his history, he was willing— _Egypt_ was willing to take me into his protection. Why? Because of my _actions_?

I just couldn't…understand it. I hadn't done anything worthy. My actions were the same as anyone else in my position, surely. I wasn't any better than anyone else.

Unable to find anything else to say, I just allowed a smile to pull at my lips.

Sometimes, it is just better to smile and accept than it is to do anything else.

Then, the words came into my mind. The right response. "Please call me Michelle."

"Dude, we need to get something done around here! I'm tired of just sitting! I mean, for realz! C'mon, this is getting ridiculous, isn't it? If I sit on my hands any longer, they're gonna go to sleep! And that's an annoying feeling anyway! I don't like that tingly crap. Freakin' Germany and his freakin' 'takin' over the world' shit! Ain't nobody got time for that!" Alfred Jones turned and glared over his shoulder. "Are you even listening over there or am I just talking to myself?"

"Talking to yourself," John Jones reported idly, flipping a page in his book. He didn't even lift his eyes from the story. Across the room, America nearly fell off the couch in his bid to stand up and hit his brother over the head. "Don't take your frustration out on me." America stilled and slipped his hands into his pockets attempting to look innocent.

"Why would I do that?"

Johnny shrugged, "Dunno. That's what you always do. Most of the States just ignore you anyway."

"So am I just talking to myself _all the time_?"

"You do that quite often actually. Mostly because no one marks you," a British voice drawled from the opposite side of the room. Alfred spun around.

Narrowed blue eyes turned to the corn-haired blond sitting in the corner chair. "I never got bad marks in school, damn it! You know that!"

Britain just sighed, shaking his head. "Not that kind of marking, idiot. Besides, if you want something to do, why don't you mobilize your standing army? Did that possibility ever enter your fat head?"

"I'm _not_ fat!"

"Is that the only part you heard?" Britain questioned loudly.

Alfred winced and drew back, pressing his hands over his ears. After a week of Arthur's presence in New York, a headache was beginning to become the Star-spangled Nation's constant companion. As if he didn't have enough to worry about with Germany starting his prodding for war—by sinking ships under the American flag!

Now, Alfred had reluctantly been drawn into Japan's bid for world domination as well. Britain had flown right over the pond as soon as he received intelligence from one of his undercover operatives. And, only two days after Britain's arrival, Alfred issued a warning to Kiku to cease his efforts to invade.

Kiku was a crafty person. America knew that better than most. Although he loved to annoy the Nation (he was so damn uptight), he knew that picking an outright fight would have been less than advisable. Japan had quite the military and America was more than aware of it.

So, instead of engaging militarily, Alfred chose the sneaky way out. Well, maybe it wasn't so sneaky as much as it was…blunt. He cut funds. He placed an embargo on Japan, Italy, and Germany.

He cut _petroleum_ , which ultimately crippled Thailand's economy. At that move, Thailand crumbled from glory and the wonderful progress that Chao had made in the past century was for naught. That sort of cluster warded away some threat of invasion.

After that, Japan backed off and stopped his aims for invading Thailand.

The under-the-covers liaison work was tiring and Alfred was slowly becoming fed-up with his own inability to act. Part of him—a large majority of his populace—wanted to stay out of the conflict while another part of him wanted to join the battle. It was starting to really grate on his nerves.

"Anything on your wayward charge yet?"

America stilled, muscles freezing at the casual question. In his peripheral vision, he noticed New York closing his book with an audible 'snap.' "No, nothin' yet."

"Ah," Britain nodded. It was as if he were accepting that a neighbor just moved away or someone's dog was sick. For some reason that nonchalant nod was enough to piss the younger Nation off.

New York beat him to the punch. "You haven't done jack shit to help, Iggy. You have the 'best' spy networks in Europe and you haven't found her. No wait! You haven't had anyone looking."

At this veiled accusation, Arthur bristled and settled his tea down on the nearby table. "Wait just a tick, lad. I have been at war and I have far fewer personnel to spare. I cannot reassign any of my spies at this given time. They all have extremely important missions at present." When America started to speak up, Britain held a hand aloft. "I'm not finished. It is likely that the girl is dead by this point and…Would it not be better to say good riddance? She was a security risk and it would seem that she kept her mouth sh—"

"You bastard! You cold-hearted bastard!" New York's brawler side came out in mere seconds and America quickly placed himself between the Nation and the State. New York had thrown himself off his position on the couch. America was just quick enough to grab his State and hold him back. "How could you say something like that?"

"In war, there are losses."

"You think I don't freakin' know that? You seem to forget, Arthur. We've met each other on the field of battle several times. At one time, I kicked your ass. I'm sure you can recall…"

That statement hung in the air for several moments before America spoke up, pushing New York back. "Johnny, could you go call…call Frank. Let him know that I'm gonna be a little late to the meeting. I've got some issues I need to deal with." When Johnny made a few aggressive steps forward, lifting his fist, America quickly grabbed the State's arm and his voice became harder. "New York, don't make me turn this into a command. I will if I have to. Go call Frank. Cool off."

Reluctantly, John lowered his fist and narrowed his eyes at his 'brother.' He spoke then, in a voice that was deadly and dangerous. "If you remember, Britain," he muttered, " _I_ was the one that gave you that scar on your shoulder." The Nation didn't betray any emotion, but the State continued on just as viciously as before. "Saratoga was when you first learned just how 'obstinate' us Americans can be."

At this, Britain actually did look a bit stricken, but that look was disposed of quickly.

"And, if you remember, New York, I took you prisoner not long after that."

"Did you?" The State questioned cryptically before giving America a glare. "I'll call the Pres, but after that, I'm outta here."

"Where're you goin'?" America questioned, turning to watch his 'brother' leave the room. "You can't go look for her!" The door to the street slammed shut and Alfred sighed, shooting a tired look toward Britain. "You suck, you know that? I'm having a hard enough time keeping the States from total anarchy!"

"Are you sure you know what that means?"

"Just as well as you do," America retorted. Britain recoiled. "Yeah, yeah. I'm just as bad as him. At this point, I don't give a rat's ass what you think of my States or their behaviors. You knew better than to provoke him. Frankly, you're the one freeloading over here. So…why the hell _are_ you here, Britain?" Shifting, the younger Nation moved to sit down again. His legs kicked up casually to rest on the ottoman. "You got any information I should know about?"

Britain remained silent, staring at the hardwoods.

"Britain, man, c'mon. You fly over, crash at my place, and don't say a damn thing. What's the d—"

"I've found her."

"Huh?"

Britain shrugged, "To be more accurate, Gupta has her."

"Wait a minute! What?" Dumbfounded, America shot to his feet and pointed an accusing finger. Rudeness be damned. "You couldn't mention this _sooner_? Like, I don't know, when you arrived?" At Arthur's smirk, Alfred palmed his forehead. "You have a war going and you still wanted to pull a prank on all of us. You know what? You're a douche. Have been for years. Since you got pissy about some tea—"

"That was perfectly good tea and you threw it into the ocean just to spite me!"

America continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "And that's why no one likes you. Cause you're a prick. Now, I gotta go and wrangle Johnny in before he decides to invade Germany himself. Do you know how much that freakin' sucks? New York's bad enough already without you egging him on." When the smirk grew into an actual smile, Alfred surmised that _yes_ , Britain did know just how hard it was to calm New York down. "We've been worried sick about her, Arthur."

"I know."

"And Delaware has had his own spies out there looking, despite my orders."

"I know."

"You know? You know everything, huh? 'Cause you're all smart and shit?" America narrowed his eyes. "Wanna know why I don't _actually_ join the war? It's because of crap like this. You sure you didn't do anything to piss Germany off this time?"

"I didn't do anything _last_ time!" Britain shouted, obviously offended.

America lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "No one can help you unless you stop playing espionage and give over information to help." Noticing Arthur's defensive stance, Alfred sighed and readjusted his glasses. "So, she's with Egypt. Is she safe there? What happened? Is she alright?"

"She's fine. She is safe. She was rescued by Greece, who—I suppose—was feeling rather rebellious considering his Head of State has been exiled. He dropped her off in Alexandria three weeks ago to stay with his monarch. They'll be arriving in London around November." Britain paced the floor with his hands clasped behind his back. "Egypt called the day before yesterday to tell me of her arrival. Kept it a secret until then because she was—well, she was recovering."

America went still. "Recovering from what? I thought she was fine!"

"She is fine. Healthy as a mule! Stubborn as one too, I suspect."

"Iggy, tell me. She's _my_ citizen! I deserve to know!"

"Egypt has seen worse."

"That means nothin' to me and you know it! That guy's seen more battles than _you_. He's seen nearly everything." Alfred growled in irritation. "Britain, if you don't tell me right now, I swear—"

"She was and is severely malnourished."

America's voice rose to a shout, "That bastard _starved_ her?"

Britain ignored the interruption, moving to inspect the books on the shelves. "She was also severely dehydrated. She had sepsis, which had gotten particularly nasty in her right heel. It is likely that she will have a limp from the removal of the infected flesh and bone. From what Egypt tells me, she is extremely skittish and will not speak of what happened while she was kidnapped. She will just say that she was 'locked up.'"

"I'll kill that son of a bitch! What did he do to her?"

"America! I understand that you are angry, but please put this into perspective. She's a single citizen. I've had thousands killed in this war. She's made it out alive. Frankly, I doubt very much that Germany did anything physical to harm her. That would be illogical. She had information he wants and to cause physical harm would not have been beneficial to his plans. We also don't know what information she gave to him. It's possible that he now possesses knowledge of future events."

"She wouldn't—"

"Do you know that, lad? Can you say without a shadow of doubt that Miss Daniels would keep her tongue while under such duress?"

America's sky blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "She _wouldn't_ do that."

When the other Nation went to argue, Alfred held up a hand.

"Shut up! She swore on the American creed. On my creed. Told Delaware just before she was taken that she would especially uphold the last line of _my_ creed." Seeing that Britain was not understanding the declaration, America sighed and turned to stare out of the bay window. " _I therefore believe it is my duty to my country to love it, to support its Constitution, to obey its laws, to respect its flag, and to defend it against all enemies_."

"What—"

"To defend _me_ against _my_ enemies, Britain."

"She didn't know it was _you,_ though."

"That doesn't matter. Germany is my enemy right now. She'd defend me—America— against him and Italy and Japan and anyone else who would be on their side. And I know you don't trust her. Frankly, I don't give a shit and two pennies if you do or don't. She's like family—"

"She's a human!" Britain sighed, shaking his head. "Humans cannot be 'family.'"

"Do I look like I care about your freakin' social hierarchy bullhonky?" Britain gaped at America's sternness. "Is this the face of someone who cares? This is not the face of someone who cares! She's important to me and _my_ family. And I know she didn't tell Germany a damn thing. I know. I know because I know _her_."

"We can't know that."

"Then you can use your spies and find out for yourself. Otherwise, I'm gonna go pick her up from Egypt myself and I'm bringin' her home." Stomping his foot for added emphasis, Alfred turned on his heel and started for the door. His hand reached out automatically and pulled his leather jacket from the coat rack. "If you've got nothin' else for me, Britain, then I'm gonna to grab a plane and go."

"You can't just go to Egypt and pick up a political refugee!"

"Why the hell not?"

Britain palmed his forehead, sighing in frustration. "I thought you were neutral. If you go roaring in there with your ridiculous plane, it'll be taken as an act of war. Now, sit down and shut up before you hurt yourself. She'll be in London in a matter of weeks."

"But I want her home now!"

"Well, you can't always get what you want." (1)


	15. A Smile

_One peaceful Nation after another has met disaster because each refused to look the Nazi danger squarely in the eye until it actually had them by the throat.-_ Franklin Delano Roosevelt (September, 1941)

" _Sabah el kheer,"_ Egypt greeted as he entered into my room. I glanced up from the book I was reading. He was in his military attire, khaki fatigues with bandages around his calves. His keffiyeh was a pristine white. A white scarf rested around his neck as well, looking a bit like a white bandana. Unfortunately, I was not well-versed in the terminology for Egyptian clothing so I couldn't quite say what it was. He tilted his head to me and translated his words, "Good morning."

" _Sabah el kheer,"_ I echoed in Arabic. He smiled just slightly, nodding his head to show that I had pronounced it correctly. "Any word?"

He paused for a moment by the window, narrowing his eyes. I pulled my brows together, glancing out in the direction he was staring. The palace in Alexandria sat on the horizon. Shaking off whatever he was thinking, the Egyptian representation settled himself in his usual chair at the table. His arms folded in front of him. "I see the King has given you some material to read."

We had gotten to know each other fairly quickly. Egypt and I, that is. Living in such close quarters while under his care made me pick up on his behaviors. It had been a week since I had awoken from my coma. Nearly every evening was spent in Egypt's presence. I had learned his mannerisms and habits quicker than I had even picked up on New York's. Perhaps desperation was the motivation behind that. I needed someone familiar, someone to lean on. Egypt had taken on that supportive role. "You're avoiding the question."

"Am I?" He pondered blandly. I leveled him a look of reprisal and he sighed, "I have spoken to Britain."

"Arthur? Is he alright?"

Egypt allowed a small smile on his face for a mere second before forcing it away. He didn't like to show outward emotions. He felt they compromised him and his security.0 "You are concerned? For Arthur?"

I shrugged and leaned back. "Right now, Arthur is the main force fighting Germany. And he's not doing so well at that. Of course I'm concerned." Marking my page with a bit of paper, I closed my book and turned to fully face the Nation. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he responded. "You should know that the Siege of Leningrad has begun."

My mouth opened and closed a couple times before my gaze lowered to my hands. He was avoiding the question, quite strategically at that. He knew that I would have to respond to that particular bit of information. "September 8, 1941. So… he didn't heed the warning."

Egypt hummed thoughtfully before shaking his head. "Russia was able to evacuate most of his civilians before the siege began. Millions have been sent to other Russian cities, like Moscow, and into the countryside." Dull green eyes turned to me and I felt my breath catch. There was something about that look that had me a bit nervous. "You warned them. You warned the Allies of Leningrad."

A thrill of fear coursed through my veins. Egypt knew things about time and reality. What if I had done something terrible? My eyes rose from my hands and I glanced toward him. "Yes. I did."

"Why?"

"I couldn't stay silent anymore. I trusted them to do what they had to. I was vague and the things I said… were things that would have been figured out eventually." Shaking my head, I sighed. "I cracked under the pressure. For the first year of my time here, I kept quiet. So many people were dying though. I couldn't—It was selfish. I knew I shouldn't say anything, but I couldn't stand it any longer."

"I understand," he murmured. I stopped, muscles freezing as I looked at him. It wasn't the response I was expecting. He rested his chin on his hand. "As I have said, Michelle, the burden of knowledge is a terrible thing."

"You aren't mad?"

Egypt pursed his lips and shrugged, "No."

Sighing, I relaxed a bit. Although I hadn't asked _how_ Egypt knew things regarding time and reality, I knew that he was being completely serious. It was likely a National secret that I just couldn't know, so I just kept my curiosity to myself. "It doesn't seem like much has changed."

"From your perspective, I find that unusual."

"Huh? How so?"

The Nation shifted and got a little more comfortable in his chair. "You hail from a world that views this one as fictional. I would say that is quite a change." Gaping at him, he did nothing more than shrug off my shock. Really, he was so nonchalant about some things. How could he possibly know that his world was fiction in my world? I hadn't spoken a word of it to anyone! How could he _possibly_ know something like that? "How can it seem that not much has changed when fiction surrounds you on a daily basis?"

Caught off-guard by his statement, I tried to piece together some sort of response. "I-I meant historical facts. It doesn't seem like many historical facts have changed. You know—"

"In fiction, historical facts can be manipulated."

A switch flicked on in my brain and I leaned forward. My intrigue at his statement could likely be heard in my tone of voice. Focusing on how he knew was pushed to the back of my mind for the time-being. "Are you saying that the history of this world is fundamentally different from the history of mine?" He didn't answer. "I'd theorized that much months ago, but I couldn't find any evidence to back the theory. With the National representations as factors, history would have to be different, right?"

"The differences are minimal, but they do exist." Egypt paused for a moment, staring at me with emotionless eyes. "Although the Nations do not possess as much political power as they used to, they still hold—in many countries— some amount of sway in the actions of the nation they represent. One example would be Britain." He shifted and looked back out the window. "Britain has quite a bit of power in the British government, so much so that he is often placed in charge of military operations."

"That would explain why he is shown on the battlefront in the show…" I murmured to myself.

It seemed Egypt had heard me and his head nodded. "Germany is also very influential on many international situations, as you likely saw in Austria. One could think of him as a sort of military liaison and officer. He has human subordinates."

So these added factors made the history of this world different from my own, if only infinitesimally so. I understood that much, but did it affect the outcome of the whole war? "What about the results of these changes?"

"That, I cannot say. Even with my knowledge, I cannot predict the future. No one can. We are a work of fiction. Therefore, it is safe to surmise that there will be—how do you say—plot twists. As there are in life, so shall there be in fiction." Before I could protest that claim, he held up a hand to silence me. "I am not invalidating the existence of this world. Not at all. Nations, after all, exist in all realities—"

"In one form or another," I nodded. This was what I had heard from Ancient Greece.

Egypt studied me for a few seconds, before closing his eyes and resting his chin on his hand once more. "I believe that things will turn out fine. In the end. We must all face hardships, no matter where we are from." His voice sounded so tired. "In the end, fictional or not, I hope that we will be fine."

"This is all very complicated, isn't it? Worse than I thought it was."

"Of course, reality is a complicated thing—That is true no matter the reality we perceive. So, too, is war. You have been dropped into a world far different from what you imagined. Dictated by the rules of both reality and fiction." He smiled ever so slightly. "You will never understand it, so it is best to just accept that there will always be things you do not understand."

A laugh bubbled up in my chest and I released an almost crazed giggle. My laughs never seemed the same as they once had been before my captivity. They were almost always crazed and high-pitched. I hated it, but I couldn't actively change it. They were breathy and half-hearted. Why couldn't I laugh outright anymore? "Basically, this world is nuts and, Michelle, you're nuts for trying to reason it out?"

Egypt pulled his brows together before nodding, "Something like that."

Now, I was just amused and the laughter fell away again. Like it always did. "So, you know what the anime was like in my world?"

"I have seen glimpses of it. Humorous, a parody."

"Parody, indeed."

"My characterization was quite accurate, though I am not as quiet as depicted."

"Almost every characterization has been semi-accurate thus far. The darker themes though…"

"Your world has witnessed the darker sides of their respective nations. The point of the humor is to find the lighter side to the darkness." Ah, a rationale that most of the Hetalia fandom prescribed to. I found that parallel to be almost eerie in a way. Across time and space, the same belief was held—from a Nation to the fans. How odd…The fact that there was a connection even when it seemed the two worlds couldn't be further apart. What would those fans say if I messed up this world with my carelessness? Would the Nations suffer even more with my presence?

"Something I have learned, Michelle," I focused on him again and pulled out my spiraling train of thought, "do not place the fate of this world upon your shoulders alone. _Cum hoc non propter hoc._ "

"Huh?"

"Correlation does not imply causation."

Of course he was throwing Latin phrases at me. He was trying to stop my negative thoughts with some logic. Logic that I couldn't easily buy at the moment. "Perhaps it does not, but it does hint at it." My smile faded and I dropped my gaze to my hands again. It was hard to read Egypt. I couldn't quite tell if he was trying to make me ride an emotional rollercoaster or if he was just that way. "I have blood on my hands. That's what Britain told me…and he's right."

"He has the blood of centuries on his hands. As do I. As do most of the Nations."

"So, he shouldn't be pointing fingers?"

A smirk pulled at his lips as he stood. "Something like that." His hands brushed along his shirt, straightening the wrinkles. "Stop thinking on the distortion between realities. The truth is: you are a part of _this_ particular world now. It does not matter any further than that." He smiled just slightly and moved toward the door. "I shall visit you this evening. We may talk more then."

Quickly, I thumbed through the book in my hands. "Ah, uh— _Bettawfeeq,"_ I said with a wave. Before the door closed, I saw a true smile. Once I was alone in the room, I looked to the translation and read it aloud, willing for it to be true. "Good luck."

It occurred to me a few hours later that Egypt…had a wonderful smile. He rarely used it, but it was just a bright as the sun on the horizon.

After that morning talk with Egypt, the thoughts that had always been swirling in my head regarding the relation between worlds and times faded away. Even my lingering concerns about HetaOni, which I actively tried not to think of, diminished. Why? Because ultimately they didn't affect my _current_ situation. As much as I could think on the subjects, it didn't change the fact that I was currently in the middle of a war, in a fictional-reality, and halfway across the world from home.

It also didn't change the fact that there was seemingly no escape.

Instead, I focused myself on simply living.

"You're a quick study, Michelle."

Smiling slightly, I turned toward the King. "Comes with years of practice, Your Majesty."

He nodded, "You're getting better with your Arabic. Gupta seems quite impressed. Though, I suppose it might be hard to tell considering his normal demeanor." Laughing a bit, I almost didn't notice how pale the King had become in recent days. "I received a call from Heracles yesterday evening."

"Is he alright?"

Worry flittered across the Head of State's face. "He is trying to gather a resistance force." I nodded, knowing what he was referring to. EAM, or the National Liberation Front, was one of the strongest resistance movements during the war. It only stood to reason that Greece would be among those backing the movement, if not controlling it from the shadows. "I fear he will harm himself if he goes against Germany's wishes. Calling was like showing his ass to the Germans, declaring that he could not be stopped."

"He's going to do what he wants to do. Isn't he stubborn like that? I mean, he got me out of there when there was little hope for success." I forced a smile. "He's strong. I doubt Germany will want to anger him too much… though, I think that clashes between them will be inevitable."

King George narrowed his eyes at me before sighing, "You're not concerned, are you? That's comforting."

"I'm concerned. I just have confidence in Greece. You should too."

The monarch stared thoughtfully at the wall, lips pursing a bit. Eventually, he turned his attention back to his letter. "My friends in London are anticipating my arrival. The arrangements have already been made." He glanced to me out of the corner of his eye. "What are your plans?"

"Go back to America," I replied immediately. "I want to go home."

Smiling, his eyes softened in my direction. Even though he didn't have any children of his own, I thought that he probably would have made a pretty good father. That sort of expression didn't come from uncaring people. "I shall make the necessary arrangements then. I suppose the Nation will be willing to pick you up?" He didn't wait for my answer as he began writing again. "I do hope that the estate is still standing when I arrive…"

My attention moved back to the Arabic book that lay in my lap. I had been studying the language for a week or two, just so that I could use what few words I knew to communicate with Egypt. Although he was fluent in English (with barely an accent), he had told me that he was fonder of Arabic. Thus, my desire to learn the language as best I could before setting sail for Britain. It was something to pass the time. Anyway, I wanted to do something for him.

He was always so careful with me. Gentle.

After…the dungeon, I was fragile.

And I knew I was.

He didn't know what I had been subjected to. He never asked. Egypt just supported me without reservation. I never volunteered the information either. I just trusted that he would help me regardless of my silence. It was a friendship, I realized after some time. A friendship unlike any I had ever experienced before. For a few days, it seemed too soon to reach that kind of conclusion. I was never one to rush into friendships. I believed that they formed over years and years. Still…my situation played some role in my attachment to Egypt.

I was alone in a foreign region after a terrifying ordeal. My previously established ties were a long, long way away. The world was crumbling around me and my sanity was hanging by a very thin string. And Egypt was there. 'Friendship by convenience' seemed to devalue him. It was a deeper connection than that.

With Egypt…I could be myself without holding back. And…I tried to return him the favor.

" _Salam_ ," I greeted hours later when he arrived home from his duties. The King had long since retreated to his room and I was left to the study by myself. Usually, Egypt was running patrols. It seemed his day had been particularly rough because his face actually showed some irritation. " _Kaifa haloka?_ "

"Fine," he grumbled. His emerald gaze skittered to me and the cane that rested by my chair. Huffing, he moved to the other sitting room chaise. "You still have an accent."

I tried the phrase again, but put less inflection into the second syllable. _"Kaifa haloka?"_

"Better."

Figuring that he needed silence, I went back to my book. Although he was obviously worn out, it was a companionable hush that fell over us. I wondered vaguely what could have irritated him so. Normally, Egypt was even-tempered and neutral. Even when Italy was pushing at his borders or if Germany was rallying his forces, Egypt remained calm and collected.

"They will not leave me alone."

I glanced up.

Egypt sighed, running his hands over his face.

"Germany? Italy?" He didn't answer and I really didn't expect him to. Perhaps that was the best part of our relationship. Huge explanations weren't always needed. "Britain?" This did draw a flinch from him. I had my answer. "Britain has been—"

"I…" The African Nation trailed off, closing his eyes. "I…do not hate him, though I have grown tired of his influence. Since sixty years ago, I have been under his command. In the shadows. He likes to pretend that he is not ruling me, but he is. I have little choice."

That seemed to be a recurring theme in the world of Hetalia.

The Nations rarely had a choice.

"Then, Italy tries to invade. And Germany comes to help. Some part of me _wants_ them to win. A part of me wants to gain freedom from Britain, even if it is just to belong to someone else. Fake independence is not independence at all. And I am still under Britain's control, no matter what I wish or what I do. What is worse, I cannot bring myself to condemn my people to a fate with the Italians and Germans. Even so…my government _is_ pro-fascist. If the British forces fail…"

This had been the case for a while though. What had finally set Egypt off? Was it a border conflict or a battle I wasn't aware of? Admittedly, I didn't know as much as I should have about the Middle Eastern and African campaigns. The nervousness in his tone made me realize that Egypt was scared. He was actually terrified. My stomach exploded into a nauseous twisting mess.

"Egypt—"

"They're too strong. I can't fight it."

His voice was audibly shaking. I tensed, staring at the taught muscles in his jaw. He was gritting his teeth. My worry for him made me start to reach for my cane. I had to comfort him, help him. Somehow I had to—

"You-You will be leaving in two days' time."

"Two—two days? I thought it was two weeks."

Egypt's eyes opened and he looked directly at me. That coldness was back once more. The emotionlessness that he put on to distance himself from people. "My ministers are considering handing over King George to Germany in exchange for annexation rather than occupation."

"That wouldn't work!"

"You believe I am not aware of that?" I pulled back at his tone and he sighed. He looked every bit the tired Nation I expected. It seemed like everyone was weary at this point. And there were still four more years to go. "If they knew of you, Michelle, you would be handed over to him without second thought."

"I—I must get you and the King, as well as his entourage, out of my borders as soon as possible. A British ship will be leaving in two days from port. You will be boarding." Egypt shifted slightly, still looking troubled. "I will not allow you to be returned to Germany, Michelle. Please… trust me."

He looked so desperate for assurance, like he was questioning every action he had ever made. I wondered momentarily if he always held this kind of self-doubt. Well, I could give him that much at least. With upmost sincerity, I murmured the words he needed to hear: "I trust you."

Staring at me for a few long moments, Egypt rose from his seat and moved to stand in front of me. He gently pulled something from his pocket and held it out for me to take. His face was blank, detached. I carefully removed the item from his hand and gave him an inquisitive look. "It is a gift."

Carefully, I pulled the blade from the sheath.

It was rather plain looking, not adorned with gold and jewels. A simple black hilt and a silver metal blade. A military weapon. My heart thundered in my chest as I stared at the weapon. "Egypt—"

My head jerked up. As quickly as the anger flared at his insult of Alfred, it fizzled out. Genuine concern was clear in his eyes, pushing through his mask. I looked back to the dagger with a little apprehension. "When I was kidnapped, I hit Spain with a baseball bat. I think I broke his skull."

Egypt seemed to choke on nothing, but regained his composure second later. "Well, this is a fair bit more portable than a baseball bat." I put the blade back into its sheath. "I have also acquired you some new clothes. The ones that you came here wearing were destroyed as they were torn and tattered. What you have been wearing around the house has been fine, but you will need something more substantial for your travels." He held out a hand and offered his arm as I stood. I left my cane behind and relied on his aid to help me along.

When we arrived in my room, I found a set of khaki military fatigues laying upon the mattress. I looked to Egypt in question. "Are you preparing me for war?" I moved forward on my own and released his arm. The fatigues looked very much like his own and I found myself growing concerned that he would not answer my question. Finally, I looked up and he shook his head.

"'Outfitting you for survival' would be the better phrase."

Playing with the rough fabric, I glanced at the bottom half of the uniform. Smiling, I glanced back toward the Nation. "Pants."

"Certainly more comfortable on a ship than a skirt, I would think."

Nodding, I glanced toward the dark brown scarf hanging on the bedside chair.

When had he ordered the maids to put this stuff in my room?

"And that?"

"To conceal your identity," he answered. "From what my own allies can tell, Germany still seeks you out. I expect that he will make another attempt to gain your knowledge in the near future. Keeping your identity hidden is the best way to avoid his attention. And, currently, he is unaware of your location." He looked tiredly toward me and frowned. "You cannot remove that hijab—headscarf— until you reach London." He moved over to the piece of fabric and took hold of it, pulling it languidly from the back of the chair. "This…is the most protection I can give you."

Reaching forward on instinct, I placed a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened at the contact, but didn't bat my hand away. "It's enough. It's more than enough. Everything you've done…is more than enough."

He sighed and lowered his head.

What could I do for him? This question bothered me immensely. Egypt had done so much for me, to protect me, to help me heal. I had nothing. In this world, in my situation. I had nothing I could give him that would ease his mind. The idea that I had was barely anything. It was such a small show of gratitude. Still, it was _something_. If I can make a friend—him— smile during a difficult time, then I've done my job. "Egypt, would you mind if I cook tonight? Maybe I can make something you can impress the troops with at lunch tomorrow? Something not burnt or inedible."

Glancing at me, he seemed to consider the idea for a moment before walking forward to hold out his arm. I reached out and took it. He never responded to me aloud, but as we walked out of my bedroom, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him he give me the smallest hint of a smile.

That was something, at least.

** Footnote: **

(1) Rolling Stones reference in previous chapter. Sorry about that.


	16. Bombs

_The mood of Britain is wisely and rightly averse from every form of shallow or premature exultation. –_ Winston Churchill (September 9, 1941)

Standing in front of the floor mirror, I stared in disbelief at the image portrayed there. The military fatigues were perhaps a size too big (Egypt explained that I would be gaining some weight back) and the boots were a tad more uncomfortable than the boots I used to wear in my own world and time. There was no extra padding inside for comfort. My hair was a tangled mess and was tied into submission at the nape of my neck. It was barely enough to make a ponytail. Just a small gathering of hair. Truly, I could barely recognize myself. I was gaunt, thin, and sickly-looking. After a month and a half, I had thought I would gain more weight back. It seemed that my health would take a bit more time to recover.

Thinking on the changes, I glanced over to the cane.

It was a gift from King George, something he said would help stabilize my walking. And it did. Although before my jaunt into this world I would have not liked the aesthetics of a twenty-four year old using a cane, I got over my own conceit. With my right heel missing, I needed something to help until I got used to walking without it.

"Are you ready to go?"

Turning, I noticed Egypt standing in the doorway. His face was void, but I could sense tension in the way he held himself, back straight and chin aloft. A bag was held in his right hand. "Did you pack some food or something?"

"Just a few books," he said. "I took the liberty of adding a Bible. I have many holy books in my possession. You mentioned missing yours and I know you stated that you were interested in reading others. There is a Quran as well." I sent him a thankful smile, grabbing my duffel from the chair. With it thrown over my shoulder, I glanced over the room. It had been home for some of the toughest moments of my life. Nightmares and tears. Cut, print, moving on. "Perhaps, in time, you can visit."

"I'd like that," I responded. Keeping the emotion out of my voice as best I could, I moved to follow him down the hallway. My limp was slight—like Dr. House—and it was getting better with each passing day.

The clip-clip of nails alerted me to a new presence in the room. Looking over toward the kitchen area, I smiled. " _Anapa_." The dog paced forward calmly, much like his master, brushing his wet nose against my fingers. "Be a good boy for Egypt. Intimidate his enemies into submission, okay?" The dog whined, obviously sensing that something was amiss.

"You need to put on the hijab before leaving the house."

"I don't know how."

Egypt paused in the magnificent, gold-leaf inlayed entryway. With a patient sigh, he settled the small burlap bag on the marble floor and turned to me. Pulling the scarf over my head, he rested onto the edge of my hairline. With a few pulls and twists, he had fashioned it to cover my neck as well. "Tuck the edges into your collar." While he turned to grab the bags, I pushed the fabric into my shirt.

"I can get my bag."

"I have it," he assured. In a classic Egypt move, he simply ignored my outstretched hand and exited the house. Rolling my eyes at his silent show of stubbornness, I followed behind and made sure Anubis stayed inside. It was the first time I had been outside of the suburban house since I arrived, aside from time spent on the veranda.

A car was idling in the drive, sleek and black. When I sent Egypt a questioning glance, he merely shrugged and gestured for me to enter the back seat.

"This man is on my pay and his family has been loyal to me for nearly a century."

"It puts a new meaning to 'service to your nation.'" At my quip, the African Nation smirked. "I assume the same is so of your maids?"

"Yes."

"Is that the case with all Nations?"

"Some choose not to employ or interact heavily with humans for fear of growing attached." Egypt explained while glancing out at the passing city. "King George will be at the docks when we arrive. He had a few appointments before boarding."

"I spoke to him about all of this last night. Not that he doesn't appreciate your help, but—"

"He is quite fond of Britain—Arthur—I am aware."

"Yeah," I nodded. Something pressed on my heart, something that needed to be said. As I watched the buildings speed past, I couldn't help but to speak my thoughts. I wasn't hesitant about my words though, as I might have been before. They came out with all the sincerity I felt. "I'm going to miss you, you know. You're…You're one of the best friends I've made here in this world. With you, Egypt, I didn't have to hide anything. While I was here… I felt free."

He didn't turn to me, but I could see his hand gripping the hem of his shirt. I refocused my attention on the passing scenery to give him the privacy he needed. Egypt wasn't outwardly emotional. Just the fact that he was gripping his shirt made me realize that I had struck a chord.

The rest of the car ride was silent, save for the occasional honk of the horn. I ignored my fraying nerves as we drew closer and closer to the docks of Alexandria. Huge naval ships were stationed along the docks, evidence that Alexandria was one of the biggest naval centers for the war effort. Fluttering in my stomach made it almost impossible for me to think of anything positive.

In fact, upon seeing the ship, I could only think of how many ways this trip could go wrong.

Any ship sailing at this time was subject to torpedoing from German submarines.

It was possible that we would never make it to London.

No, I couldn't think like that. In my reality, King George didn't die during the war. It wouldn't be the case here either. We would make it to England.

"Why do seagulls fly over the sea?"

Confused at Egypt's sudden question, I turned from the gigantic ships and pulled my brows together. What in the world had brought about that question?

He turned to me and with no expression answered himself. "Because if gulls flew over the bay, they would be bagels."

The inflection of his accent, the straightness of his expression, and the sheer stupidity of the joke were enough to make me lose my composure. I let out the heartiest laugh I had since my imprisonment. Tears pricked at my eyes and I could barely catch my breath. For the first time in a while, I just let go and let myself be truly happy. "Did—Did you learn that—Haha! Did you learn that from J-Japan?"

"Mm," he nodded. He didn't smile or respond to my laughter, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. I was still laughing when we pulled up to the ship. Once the car stopped, my laughter ceased.

The ship itself was huge and, although I was terrified of it, beautiful. Painted white and black with huge chains mooring it to the dock. The sight was something I had never, ever seen before. These sort of ships didn't exist in 2015, save for as museums. Hesitantly, I stepped out into the sunlight and listened to the lapping of the waves. Gulls called out from overhead and I shielded my eyes from the brightness of the day. After hurriedly pulling the bags from the back, Egypt came to my side and gestured for us to begin moving forward. I do so automatically.

"You will have a private cabin near to His Majesty. The voyage should take around a week. You should arrive on the twenty-second, if there are no issues."

Hobbling forward, I looked up at the large floating fortress. My heart thundered in my chest as sweat broke on my forehead. It was almost unbelievable. It _would have been_ unbelievable, in my past life. In life I was currently living, sailing to London with the King of Greece on waters swarming with U-boats (German submarines), this didn't seem all that peculiar. And in comparison to—past events—I knew that my fear was unjustified. My, how time changes things.

"You are scared."

I turned to Egypt and offered a smile. "Just a little."

"Do not be," he assured quietly. A few sailors wandered past and he eyed them before continuing. "You will be safe. This, I promise you."

My gaze skittered back to the horizon of Alexandria. "Please, be careful. And please keep in touch if you can."

"Mm," he nodded. "Stay safe. Keep your head down. Try not to attract attention."

Smiling slightly, I felt the urge to joke. Lighten the air a bit. "Me? Attract attention? Nah."

Egypt mirrored my expression before becoming emotionless again. I turned, watching as my bags were taken aboard by a crew member. Hobbling forward two steps, I was suddenly halted when Egypt stepped in front of me. Before I could say a word, his arms wrapped around my shoulders and I was pulled into a strong embrace.

It was the first hug I had received since my kidnapping.

Tears pricked at my eyes as I held him in return, grabbing onto the back of his khaki shirt. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to stay in Alexandria. I knew that I couldn't and that was the most painful part. My knowledge, once more, was dictating my life. In order to keep me safe, he had to make me leave. I held him closer. My friend, my good friend. Not everyone could possibly be as kind as him.

Stepping back, he looked into my eyes and smiled the brightest smile I had ever seen him give. I couldn't help but to grin in return. Egypt always did have a wonderful smile. "You are a treasure, _sadiqati_. In your darkest times, remember the sun of this land. It will help you through the darkness when I cannot."

A couple salty tears coursed down my cheeks before I brushed them away. "I'm so thankful I got to meet and live with you, _sadiqi_." Pausing, I tried to piece the sentence together as best I could. " _Sawfa ashtaaqu ilayka_ (1)."He nodded, amusement flashing in his eyes. Eyes I wouldn't see again for some time or never again. I took an uneasy step away and turned toward the gangplank. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."

He said nothing in return, watching me as I carefully picked my way up onto the deck.

There, waiting in the hot Alexandrian sun, was the deposed King of Greece. He was shielding his eyes against the sun, but I could see the sympathy in them as he looked me over. I gave him a respectful nod before waiting by the ship's port (or was it starboard?) side. Whatever side was closest to the dock. The middle-aged man came up to stand beside me, gaze searching the dock until he saw Egypt standing in the shadow of a large stack of crates.

"And so, we leave Egypt to an uncertain fate."

"And we sail for Britain, who shares an uncertain fate." I shook my head.

The King laughed, "Uncertainty abounds." With that, he wondered below deck likely to meet up with his entourage. I was certain that those I had yet to meet would be introduced shortly. The King did not like for people to be strangers. Despite his love for all things British, his view of interpersonal relations was all Greek.

A few minutes later, the ship began to move and I watched as Egypt stared up at the ship, not raising his hand to wave goodbye. I did wave though, until Alexandria was out of sight. An uncertain fate was not what I was leaving my friend to. He would be fine. I knew it. History dictated that he would survive the war free from German and Italian control. Even if I knew all these things, it didn't stop the nervous feeling in my chest. He would be fine.

Egypt would be fine.

I prayed that my friend would make it safely through this war.

He…would be fine.

Right?

He would be fine.

"Are you excited to be rid of us?"

I turned to the King and smiled. We had been travelling for a week. The Southampton docks were in view, settled in a low-hanging fog. My excitement as the sight of (relatively) dry land was likely palpable to the monarch and his entourage. It was a stark contrast to the docks we had departed from. The hot, dry air of Egypt was long gone. In its place was a damp green land with an overcast sky. No sun to speak of. The King's entourage had come to know me reasonably well (though not to the extent of King George) throughout our stay aboard the vessel and they had given me space when I had withdrawn into my quarters for a majority of the seven days.

Leaving Egypt was harder than I thought it would be. I had come to depend on him for emotional stability and, now that I was separated from that security, I was regressing fast. I'd become quieter and more withdrawn. And I couldn't really help it. Even in the crowded mess, I always felt that loneness that had been driving me slowly insane. Egypt had been the one to keep that darkness at bay. When even the barest hint of shadow was around, I felt panic grow in my chest.

The King was aware.

He coached me to keep to myself, to put my mind on something else.

I did, focusing on the books Egypt had packed for me.

Basic Arabic manuals, a history of Egypt, a leather-bound journal, a small Bible, a Quran, and a Torah. All of which provided hours of study. It was my surest form of entertainment. It kept my mind occupied.

I missed music though—the newest hits on the radio. I missed everything from Justin Timberlake to Jason Aldean. From pop to country to rap. The radio aboard the ship often played big band pieces. While I loved some Benny Goodman, I was growing tired of it.

I missed television. I really missed television.

It's the small things.

"Not to be rid of you, but to be rid of this ship. I'll never sail again, so help me." I continued looking out on the approaching docks.

King George grinned, leaning against the boathouse with his arms crossed. "Believe you, me. I'm not one for boats either. Hopefully, you can _fly_ back to America." I nodded, eyes scanning the shoreline. "Will you be alright, Michelle?" Turning to face him, I saw a glimmer of protectiveness in his gaze. Smiling slightly, I couldn't help but to be grateful for his care. "Keep in touch. I want to know that you are safe. I am quite certain that Britain's Nation will take good care of you. Arthur is a good man, if a little impetuous." He paused, reaching into his pocket. "In any case, take this."

Glancing toward his hand, I saw a small pocket watch dangling in his fingers on a thin gold chain. It was gilded gold and had an intricate design of roses and flowers along the lid. My breath caught in my throat. "I—I can't accept this, sir!"

"Nonsense! Nonsense! You accepted gifts from Gupta. Take this gift now." He reached forward, grabbed my wrist and forced my palm upright before dropping the watch there. Its weight was far more than I anticipated. "I received that from my grandmother when I was a little boy. She always told me that keeping track of time was essential to a good life. If I never meet you again, Michelle Daniels, I do wish you a good life."

Tears pooled in my eyes before I moved forward to give the man a quick hug. He gave me an immediate hug in return, accepting the gesture quicker than I expected. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He smelled like something sweet. Something with honey and sugar. I wondered where that smell must have come from. The mess hall never had anything sweet on hand.

"Thank _you_ , Miss Daniels. You have been a wonderful friend during these difficult times. Someday, I am certain this war will come to an end. I can sleep with dreams of Greece's prosperity and of Olympic excellence." He stepped away and smiled down at me. I returned the same, nodding my head in respect.

After retrieving my bags from the cabin, I stood on deck with the entourage of the King. My hijab was firmly in place. Egypt would have been proud of how much skill I had acquired at putting the headscarf on. It took quite a bit of practice before I was able to do it correctly. I heaved a breath and held it as the ship's gangplank was lowered onto the dock below. Yeah, Egypt would have been proud.

How strange.

I was returning to British land, for the first time in a year and a half.

How different was my arrival?

I had come into this world as a naïve professor of history. Back then, I had hopes of returning home. Back then, I didn't consider myself halfway insane. I was normal. I still clung to my wants for my life in my home world. I was going to settle down and have children, work in the obscurity of community colleges until I became too old. I was going to die before my husband and then he would follow me for heartache alone. Then, those dreams dissolved into nothing.

Even my physical appearance had changed radically. I was on the meatier side with fat on my bones when I arrived in a flash of green light. I had curves then. My skin had been supple and young. I didn't have lines on my face nor was my hair terribly thin.

Now?

Well, now things were completely different. I was a shadow of my former self.

_Shadows. Darkness._

I shivered involuntarily, pushing the crazed thoughts to the back of my mind.

With my sack and burlap bags thrown over my shoulder, I followed the royal group off the boat. My limp was less pronounced than it had been in Egypt. The King's cousin and a crewman worked with me in the evenings to help me overcome the handicap. With my heel missing, we were able to rig my boots to make up for the space with some cleverly folded leather. The limp was slight, and I was still learning, but I was doing better.

Improvement was all I wanted, not perfection.

"Behave out there, Daniels!"

I glanced over my shoulder and threw up my free hand to Joseph, the crewman who had helped me to become better accustomed to my new gait. He smiled through his thick beard. "Stay safe, Joe!"

"Sure thing, love!"

Stepping onto dry land, I let out a sigh of relief. Never again. I couldn't stand the steady rock of the ship as it met with particular huge waves. I couldn't stand the isolation of the vessel. I couldn't stand sailing.

Yes, _never_ again.

One couldn't pay me enough to get on another ship.

Glancing around, I sent a small smile toward the King and bowed my head slightly. We had already said our goodbyes. As I still had his attention, I pulled the small watch from my pocket. He grinned back and nodded his head before disappearing into the assembled crowd toward where a car was waiting to take him to his British estate. I knew then that I would never see the monarch again. I stood in silence, watching as he moved farther and farther away until I stood alone at the edge of the dock, in the shadow of that huge ship. The mist overhead was slowly disappearing and I lifted my eyes to where the sun was just beginning to peak through the cloud bank.

"Shell—Shelly?"

Gasping, I turned slightly and saw a leather-jacket sporting angel standing about ten yards away. The front lights of an idling car lit up the mist around him, which made him seem to be glowing. The passenger side door of the car (on the left-hand side) was wide open. He had leapt out of the car and ran over, from the looks of things. Maybe even before the car had stopped moving. His hair was windswept and wet. And he looked breathless, chest heaving. I sent him a small smile and shuffled my feet, starting forward.

Then, he almost imperceptibly shifted backward.

I froze, eyes widening at the action.

His blue eyes were impossibly wide and his mouth was hanging open in shock.

"M-Michelle? That…Is that you?"

Taking another ginger step forward, I held out a hand to placate him. "Y-Yeah, it's me."

Alfred continued to stare and I wondered if perhaps there was something behind me that had caught his attention. I really couldn't put it past him to lose focus like that. Glancing back, I saw nothing but the crew unloading the boat. As I turned back around, I found myself in a pair of strong arms. Relief swept through me and I sighed, burying my face into his shoulder. He smelled as he always did: a mix of leather, hamburgers, and pine trees. He…was _home_. America's grip became tighter and tighter until I could barely breathe, but I held to his jacket just the same. His super strength was becoming too much for my weak bones. "Al…Al…air."

He released me as if I were on fire. "I'm just—I—Stars and bars! I'm so freakin' glad to see you!"

"The feeling's mutual."

Alfred, for all of his normal idiocy, was quick to snatch the bags from my shoulder. I made no move to protest. "You—You look good." I just smiled, hobbling forward with my cane. I knew that my appearance bothered him, especially because of his stare from just moment before. At least he chose to use his better judgment this time. His eyes glanced down to the cane before he looked away again. Yeah, he just didn't want to acknowledge this right now. "Britain! I mean, _Iggy_! Help me out here, bro!"

My gaze skittered over toward the car and I paused, breath catching in my chest.

Britain's expression.

My heart nearly sputtered to a stop.

His overly large brows were pulled together and his jaw was set in what appeared to be a stern frown. The muscles in his jaw ticked from the way he was gritting his teeth.

He looked…. _livid_.

Beside me, America stopped. His expression was puzzled until he also glanced toward the fuming Nation. His brows pulled down in confusion, "Uh…What up, dude?"

Hands fisted at his sides, Arthur was _clearly_ grinding his teeth in anger. I saw it, the Nation underneath. It was like a fire was kindling in his darkening forest green eyes before he glanced away. A pirate lurked under that mask, a knight, a brigand. I noticed that his right hand flinched toward his side and I wondered if he was still used to having a sword there. Even after all this time. It could have been a habitual motion, to reach for his sword. When Arthur looked up, his sight was set upon my face.

I flinched back.

He seemed to notice this and his usually light green eyes became even _darker_ with fury.

"What _happened_ to you?"

My mouth opened to answer, but nothing would come out. My lips worked to create the words, but I just couldn't. I felt America's hand come to rest on my shoulder, but it was a gentle motion as if the slightest force to break me. Was my appearance so terrible? I was doing so much better since Egypt had gotten me back to health.

What would their reactions have been a month ago?

Nervously, I tugged at the khaki shirt and glanced toward the idling car. "Did—Did you get a new car, Arthur?"

"Don't ignore the question!"

"Iggy, my man, I don't think _here_ is the best place for this."

Arthur snapped his glare toward Alfred and growled out, "Nowhere is the best place for this. Look at her! You cannot just ignore it!"

America sighed, closing his eyes. "I'm not ignoring it. Frankly, it pisses me off more than it does you. It ticks me off that you think I would just _ignore_ it. Right now just isn't the right time."

Pushing aside my fears and worry, I took a few uneasy steps forward. Britain's gaze shifted back to me and I paused again. One hand rose up in a placating motion. "Arthur, please…"

This seemed to assail his wrath for his vengeful scowl softened the tiniest degree.

Muttering under his breath, he surged forward and grabbed the bags America held in his hands. Alfred stared with wide eyes at the action. "Get her into the car, America. And you!" I continued to move even as he spoke to me, shambling toward the other side of the car. "Don't you dare think that I'm through with you, young lady!"

"Wouldn't dream of it," I murmured. Alfred sent me an amused smirk before letting loose a round of raucous laughter. The sheer volume made me cringe, but I smiled all the same. It was such a familiar sound, like hearing your favorite song after years of forgetting it. Even if it is loud, you're going to enjoy the sound of it. Maybe America was reverting to his loud personality for my sake.

Sometimes, it was better when America was his obnoxious self. Maybe it was why we Americans always got loud whenever things were (or are) at their worst. Losing ourselves to exuberance was (and is) one way to avoid the darkness that lingered in our collective hearts—the fact that we knew the world wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Maybe that kind of attitude was reflected in Alfred. It had to be.

We arrived at the countryside estate a few minutes past four in the afternoon. America had talked the whole trip about nothing. I had barely paid any attention to him, even though I wanted to. I was exhausted. A light drizzle of rain had begun to fall from the gray sky as we pulled into the gravel drive.

With rough movements, Britain jerked the car into park and clambered from the driver's seat. Without a single word, he grabbed the bags I had arrived with and strode into the house. The door slammed closed behind him and we were left to stare.

"Don't worry about him, Shelly. He's just… pissy right now."

I hummed, "Looks like it."

America hurried around to help me out, holding out a hand for me to take. Pursing my lips, I shook my head and stood on my own. "I can get it. I'm able to walk fine now."

"He didn't cut off your toes, did he?"

Freezing at the question, I turned to face my home nation. His expression was clouded by something, something dark. He thought that Germany had cut off my toes as a form of torture. A chill ran up my spine at the thought.

I'd gotten lucky. Much, much worse things had happened in the war…to prisoners and POWs.

My head shook quickly, "No. No physical torture. They went easy on me."

He breathed a sigh and escorted me inside, not saying a word. His new silence had me uneasy. His hand was so light on my back that it made me wonder if he thought I would shatter if he pressed too hard. The thought was both irritating and endearing.

"I have a kettle on the stove. Sit down before you fall down, Michelle." I gave him a sharp glare for the barb, but he didn't even give me a glance.

I settled myself into a chair at the corner of the room. It was a behavior I had learned from Austria and Hungary. That was before Austria had disappeared to Germany's house and Germany had commandeered Roderich's home for his own use. Sitting in the corner meant I could see the whole room while my back was secure. Leaning the wooden cane against the wall, I sat back and waited for—well, for lack of a better phrase—for the shit to hit the fan.

Part of me wished that I was back with Egypt. He wasn't half as…dramatic as these two. He would have calmly asked me questions while seething on the inside. Or he wouldn't have been angry at all. Or he wouldn't have asked me questions at all. Instead, Britain was pacing like a lion. America was leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, a dark look on his normally cheery features. I looked to my bony hands and frowned. This was going to get out of hand quickly, I could feel it.

"Arthur—" I lifted my eyes to see Britain waving America off with an angry hand.

"Shut it, Alfred. I need to calm down."

Observing the situation quietly, I couldn't quite figure out Britain's anger. Was it because I got kidnapped in the first place? Because I was a security risk come back to haunt him? Was it because of the Egyptian uniform I was wearing? Thinking of, I reached up and began undoing the hijab from around my head. A few moments later, my hair was free and I folded the fabric carefully, not wanting any harm to come to it. It was a gift, after all.

"Your hair—"

"It's grown out," I responded immediately, looking up at Britain. "Already to my ears."

"Dude, you cut your hair?"

Britain growled in irritation, shooting the younger Nation a glare. "If you would please find your intelligence, your stupid is showing."

Alfred stared for a moment before scowling. "I'm not an idiot, Britain. _You_ should know that by now." I watched in fascination as my Nation seemed to morph right in front of me. His seriousness was almost stunning and it was the darkest blue I had ever seen his eyes become. I fought the urge to hide. Was _this_ the other side behind the mask? If so, then I had never actually seen behind his mask. I thought I had and I was wrong. His steely gaze then turned to me. "Did they cut your hair, Michelle?"

"I—"

"Did you give them any information?"

Stunned, I turned to stare at the seething Englishman. Britain honestly thought that I would betray them? My mouth opened, but nothing came out. He thought…that I gave the Axis information. I couldn't formulate a coherent thought. He thought that I…That I would…My hands fisted in my lap and I snapped my mouth shut.

In a matter of a few seconds, I was incensed.

Behind that fury, a numb sort of sadness lapped at the back of my mind.

_A dark place._

_Alone._

Stop it.

My head shook and I shoved the thoughts from my mind. The best way to handle this situation was to put my emotional baggage aside. I needed to be as objective as possible if I wanted to get anything across to Arthur. I had to proceed with logic and level-headedness. I narrowed my eyes toward the still-pacing Brit. "No, I gave them nothing."

"Britain, I _told_ you that she wouldn't." Shifting his stance a bit, America looked over to me. "Now, answer _my_ question, Shelly."

"Yes, my hair was cut." I could remember it clearly. Japan and Hungary. The scissors rending away my dishwater brown hair to the wooden floorboards. In hindsight, it was a blessing. If I had not had my hair cut, it would have been another burden in that cellar. Suddenly, I felt tired. This was too much. I couldn't let them know that though. I kept my face straight and devoid of my exhaustion. "Do we _have_ to do this now? I'd much rather get some rest."

"You possess knowledge of the future. You were in the hands of a German spy ring. Yes, I would say that we need questions answered." Arthur's voice responded.

"Britain, she's—"

"I can _see_ her, damn it! We can both bloody see her!" It was surprising that Britain wasn't smoking at the ears. "Look at what they have done! Look at what she has become!" Offense welled in my chest and I automatically crossed my arms over my thin chest. He caught sight of the action and seemed to get riled up even further. "Bloody hell! I didn't mean that you're not beautiful, Michelle. You're half the size you were. You have a limp. You look like a startled stoat! Pardon me if I'm a little miffed at that Nazi wanker for the… damages done."

A little miffed? I snorted, shaking my head. He didn't know the half of it. "I'm alive though. Isn't that enough?"

"At what price?"

"Britain!"

"What kept him from killing you off, eh?"

Britain's mood swings were starting to get annoying.

And frankly, I wasn't in the mood.

Whereas before I might've tried to avoid conflict as much as I could, this time I was not going to just let anyone walk all over me. No, I wasn't taking this sort of attack without mounting a defense. I didn't have to take this. I wasn't going to just be walked over. Not anymore. My back straightened and my chin rose. When Arthur went to speak again, I shook my head.

"Look," I held up a hand to stop his interruption. "I didn't give the Axis a _damn_ thing. No! NO! Shut up, you horse's ass! _I'm_ talking and _you're_ listening!" Arthur's mouth snapped shut and he glared impetuously. I thought I saw America smirk, but it was quickly hidden behind a hand. Maybe I was stepping out of line with these Nations. Actually, I knew I was, but I couldn't stop myself. "I am not reliving that experience for your listening pleasure, Arthur. I'll give you the condensed version and _then_ I'm going to bed. I'm tired from a very long journey." Tightly holding the headscarf, I tried to compose myself a little better. "Now, do I have your permission to continue or should I just allow you to keep questioning my loyalty?"

Snorting in amusement, Alfred moved to sit in a nearby chair. His feet were unceremoniously kicked up onto the table as he leaned back. In a quick move, Arthur smacked the feet off and sat irritably in the other corner chair, crossing his arms.

Taking this as my cue to move on, I explained. "Two guys kidnapped me—Gilbert and Antonio. One was Spanish, probably an…agent from Franco. I don't know. He might've been a sympathizer, because Franco...Well, they're not on great terms with Hitler and the Italians...Anyway, they shot George. Is he alright, by the way?"

"Been alright for a while now," Alfred assured. "He's been worried about you."

"I'll call him when I get the chance." Sighing, I continued, "I was brought to a manor house in Austria. A man who called himself 'Feliciano' was there when I woke up. There was also a man named Roderich—though he left about a week after I arrived—and a woman named Elizabeta. I had a negative response to the chloroform and was unconscious for several days.

"I was taken to meet a man they called Germany, or Ludwig. He eventually ordered that I be denied food and water for a few days." America shifted and I sent him a smile. "Elizabeta snuck food to me. I was perfectly fine. When I refused to give over information the second time around, I was…Well, I was imprisoned in a cell. That lasted for about two weeks or so. I'm not exactly certain how long."

"And you gave them nothing?"

"How many times does she have to tell you, man?"

"I told them nothing, Arthur."

He narrowed his eyes toward me and I felt my composure beginning to break.

Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but in front of Britain.

I wanted to go home—to New York, to Egypt, to Kansas City.

Anywhere else.

"I just find it odd. That seems like such…ease…compared to Germany's usual antics."

Both Nations sat in complete silence. The only sound was the beating of the rain on the window sill. My gaze skittered over to the window, watching as beads of water trailed down.

"I didn't endure… all of that… to betray my nation or my friends. I endured all of that to keep everyone safe. And I would do it all again." I turned to glare at Britain. There was a moment of consideration before I decided to just risk it. "You don't know how to trust anyone."

He jerked in surprise, caught off-guard by my insight. "You can't—"

"I get it. I get why. After all these years, who would trust anyone? Please though, Arthur, trust _me_ when I say that I did not tell them anything." Pressing my lips together, I leaned over to grab my cane. I couldn't stay in that room any longer. It was becoming difficult to breathe. "Britain, before this war is over, you're gonna learn to trust others. And that lesson is going to be a hard one to learn."

I moved past them and stopped at the door.

Both Nations sat in complete silence, stunned by my words. On impulse, I decided to drop one final charge into the exchange. Really, I couldn't say quite why I did it. Spur of the moment. Without thought. Whatever made me stop, it was something hotheaded. Something out of character for this "mousy broad from Tennessee."

"Oh, and—Britain, America: I know you're both anthropomorphic representation of nations."

With that bomb dropped, I hobbled my way upstairs and went to sleep in the same bed I had slept in when I first arrived in the world of Hetalia. As I fell asleep, I felt a smug smile on my face. The rain continued to patter on the window sill, as the storm continued on and on into the night.

** Footnote: **

(1) I will miss you.


	17. Surrender

_You cannot tell from appearances how things will go. Sometimes imagination makes things out far worse than they are; yet without imagination not much can be done. Those people who are imaginative see many more dangers than perhaps exist; certainly many more than will happen; but then they must also pray to be given that extra courage to carry this far-reaching imagination. –_ Winston Churchill (Harrow School, October 29, 1941)

The rain pitter-pattered on the window panes, dropping shimmering diamonds onto the glass. A fire flickered in the stove and the flames made the raindrops glisten like stars stuck in the black canvas of early morning. It seemed that the sky was that much closer—as if the stars were reachable in the rain and firelight. Something about the image was haunting and entrancing. My attention was caught and I was pulled into a waking sleep by the music of it. The drops of water struck up the strings and the distant claps of thunder composed the percussion: a symphony of nature that lulled me into a sense of utter peace. A sense of peace that I hadn't achieved since leaving Egypt. Just watching the rain and the serene hush of the early morning hour. Even the air in the house was humid.

Then, _he_ walked into the kitchen and… that peace was shattered.

Heaving a breath, I watched as he strode to the stove and pulled the whistling kettle from the heat. I must have forgotten it was on the stove. I hadn't even heard it whistling. His motions were automatic. It was so routine that it almost seemed normal.

Somehow, I wished that the sense of normalcy would remain in place.

That was like wishing for peace in this time of war.

It just wasn't going to happen.

"Tea?"

Uncertainly, I glanced toward his back. His shoulders were tense and I could tell that it was taking a great amount of effort to remain civil. No sense in shoving away his efforts. "Sure," I murmured. "Tea sounds nice."

Of course, when I had arrived in the kitchen little more than half-an-hour before, I had intended to drink my tea alone. There was little else I could do at four in the morning and tea seemed like the only viable option.

He continued to work in silence and I could feel the strain in the room. I continued to watch him, not quite energetic enough to care about _why_ he would be so wound up. I could hazard a few guesses. Instead, I felt tired of putting forth the effort. I just stared until he finally turned around, two cups of tea in his hands.

Arthur placed one in front of me, actions smooth despite his attitude. In a fluid motion, he settled himself in the chair across from me. One leg crossed over the other as his gaze shifted toward the window. He looked quite the gentleman he attested to being. All pretty manners and suave movements. They did nothing to hide the scowl on his face though, no matter how hard he was trying to keep his expression neutral.

We sat in silence for the longest time.

And it wasn't the comfortable silence that I often shared with Egypt.

No, this silence was full of apprehension and veiled hostility. I knew very well that Britain didn't trust me. I knew that he suspected me of treason. I also knew that he was trying his _hardest_ to keep his anger at bay. To make matters worse, he was now aware that I knew about the Nations—about _him_. That certainly didn't help my position in his eyes. I was even more of a security risk than before. I knew about their secret identities and had said so clearly the night before.

The silence was unnerving.

Since my time…in that place, the cellar…I couldn't stand utter silence. I had heard too much of it. Enough to last a lifetime.

Maybe that was why I found America so comforting. His energy was contagious and he was never quiet.

Drawing a finger over the edge of my tea cup, I hummed under my breath to ease the tension. It was a song I grew up hearing and one that I had learned to sing when I was just a little girl. The same one I had sang at Dr. Palmer's funeral. A habit, I suppose. I shifted it down an octave because I simply couldn't hit a few notes. It was a soothing method to ease my rapidly decaying sanity.

I used to hum the same tune in the dungeon. It worked there, too. Fending off my fraying mindset.

"Scarborough Fair?"

I stopped humming and turned to the Nation. His eyes were dully looking at me, no expression on his face. Pursing my lips, I nodded. Of course he would know the song. It was his composition, after all.

He snorted, "Ironic choice." Shifting, Britain turned to look at me fully and something sparked in his eyes. Was it anger? Irritation? Or amusement? It was so difficult to read him. "Do you interpret that I ask too much of you?"

Pulling my brows together, I stared at him. What—Oh. The lyrics to Scarborough Fair. Narrowing my eyes at the Nation, I shook my head. _He_ was interpreting my choice song a bit too much, if anything. Being a bit sensitive, wasn't he? "You've _asked_ nothing of me. I ask nothing of you. Seems to be the basis of our interactions."

This seemed to catch him completely off-guard. Disbelief crossed his countenance. "Interactions? You won't even call it a relationship? Not even friends? _Interactions?_ "

"Why should I? Why should I call us friends? We're not friends."

Britain gaped at my honesty, large brows crawling up his forehead in shock. "I cannot believe—I cannot believe that you would say that."

"What would lead you to believe that we're friends, Arthur?" When he didn't answer, I took a sip of tea and settled the cup back down with a soft 'chink' on the china saucer. He looked like a—what did he call me before?—a startled stoat. A deer in headlights. Was he really so surprised? "Why would we be classified as friends? Your constant distrust? Your insults? We're not friends, Arthur. We never were. I'm merely a thorn in your side and you're the older brother Alfred. Nothing more, nothing less."

He flinched, but then leaned forward with a frown on his face. Pulling his brows together, he questioned, "Then why did you send me letters for the better part of a year?"

I went still.

"Oh, you truly thought that I was unaware? I'll admit that I was uncertain for the _longest_ time. Who could possibly be sending me such ridiculous letters, I wondered. That was until New York got worked up one evening during your captivity. He told me that I was a—a 'jackass.' Yes, I believe was his term. Among other colorful insults. He has quite the broad vocabulary for an American." Britain sat back and pulled the tea cup into his hand once more. He sat quietly for a moment, observing me. I allowed nothing onto my face aside from resignation. So he knew? So what? "Why didn't you sign your name?"

Remaining silent, I turned to look out at the rain.

It should have been obvious.

Why not ask something a bit less discernible?

"Now you're just being difficult. I swear, you're almost as infuriating as—"

"You didn't need to know _who_ was sending the letters. You just needed someone to support you. So that's what I did. Nameless support is sometimes better than no support at all. Nameless support is sometimes all it takes. And, frankly, I don't _care_ if you burned every last letter, but—"

"Burn them?" Britain snorted, shaking his head. I paused, turning to face him again. He sighed, "How lowly do you think me? I would do no such thing." He settled his tea cup down at sighed, looking me over. "Those letters…They…They—Oh bloody hell, they were the light in the darkness!"

I sucked in a breath through my nose, leaning back from the sheer intensity of Britain's stare. This was strange. It was very strange. Like there was a mix of both Arthur and Britain in that look. There was all the hope of humanity and all of the despair of the nation. Mossy knolls turned to steel before my eyes and I didn't quite know what to think.

His voice was low when he spoke again. It was almost humiliating to admit, but the tone in his voice sent shivers down my spine. He was speaking with gravity, with power. He was speaking as a Nation. "Every two weeks for a year, on shabby off-white paper, words of encouragement would arrive. Scribbled like chicken scratch. They would tell me to keep fighting, to never give up, to remember myself. You told me those things. _You_. A human girl." Noticing my bristling at his arrogant tone, he shook his head. "You misunderstand. I thought that one of my fellow Nations was supporting me."

"And it was just me."

"Not _just_ you," he barked. I flinched at the sound. He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced.

Seeking to clarify my actions, I spoke again. "Arthur, I did what I did because I wanted to help. Even if I couldn't tell you of the future."

"I understand that."

Sighing, I decided that the tea wasn't to my tastes and sat it carefully on the table once more. "I'm not certain where this conversation is going, honestly. So you know I sent the letters. That hardly makes us friends."

He snorted, "You're like him in that regard, eh? Can't accept friendship when it is offered to you."

"You accused me of being a traitor just _last night_ , Arthur. You were forcing me to remember something that I very obviously want to forget! Forgive me if I'm a little hesitant to accept a complete one-eighty in your behavior." Reaching over to the edge of the table, I grabbed my cane and moved to stand. He shot to his feet, catching the edge of the table. The china rattled with the sudden movement. I froze, looking over at him. "Arthur—"

Quicker than I could react, he circled the table and placed both hands on my shoulders. I held my breath, not quite certain what to expect with his erratic behavior.

"F-Forgive my behavior."

"Arthur, what—"

His hands slid down my arms until he held both of my hands, setting my cane off to the side. I didn't like his proximity. For someone who was not even counted as a friend, it was much too close. It seemed that he realized this as well and he stepped back away from me. He dropped my hands upon the sight of my expression. "I-I pledge to you, Michelle Daniels, that I will never again treat you as I have in the past."

That's something similar to what he said just after he almost killed me—way back when I first arrived in Hetalia. So, he was making declaration again. For all the good it would do. The only question was: "Why're you doing this?"

His gaze hardened. I flinched back, uncertain of why he was behaving this way. "I spoke to an ally. He told me…what happened."

What happened.

Yeah, there it was.

The pity in his eyes.

I stepped back from him, closing off my emotions as well as I could. This…made more sense. Why he wasn't shouting down the house. Why he was trying so hard to be cordial. Why he was being so…nice. It was all because he felt _pity_ for what I went through. "You didn't believe me until you verified with another Nation, did you? You didn't give me any benefit until you had the word of another. Huh, I should have known as much."

Britain's eyes widened, but he showed no other signs of surprise. Instead, he merely nodded his head. Anger flooded through me. It was a sort of self-righteous fury that fizzled out as soon as it crested. I let out a shaking breath and started to move. He shifted a little to block my path. "Michelle—"

"Britain, move."

We stood at an impasse. He wasn't going to move and I was not going to hear him out. Perhaps this was a new level of immaturity for me. Maybe I was handling this all wrong. Truthfully, I _wanted_ to be sympathetic to him. I wanted to be his friend. I wanted…It didn't matter what I wanted. Friendship requires a certain amount of trust and loyalty. I didn't distrust him, but he clearly did not trust me. Not in the least. Heaving a breath, I placed my hand on my hip and frowned.

"What now?" He shifted to fully block my access to the doorway.

"Now, I'm going home." When Britain jolted, I shook my head and maneuvered to the side. "Going home to the States, obviously. I have yet to find a way back to my world. In fact, I'm starting to lose hope in that prospect all together. Besides, I have family waiting on me in New York City. If I can't make it back to my world, then I'll just settle down here. I'm sure my family _here_ will help me out with that."

"Family?" I saw a new darkness enter his expression and I took a few hobbled steps away from him. Ah, yes. His family abandonment issues. If I had more patience at the moment, I might've been more compassionate, but Britain had already pissed me off enough.

"That's right. Alfred and John are like brothers to me. George as well. And I wanna go home. I'll settle down somewhere. You know, where they think I'll be safe. Maybe I can move out to Kansas City. Germany will never think to look for me there. I'll just…settle down. Get a job. Get married. Have kids. Live a normal life away from all this. That's what I want. If I have to sacrifice ever going back to my world, then that's what I'll do. I just want to live normally. I want to get away. Live in peace."

"Shelly, I wish you could."

Caught unaware, I turned to see America standing in the doorway. His expression was downcast and stressed as he brought a hand through his hair. He grimaced in my direction. "What? I can't go home?"

America's mouth opened and he almost seemed to quiver, "Look…Uh, well. Damn it, Britain! You were supposed to tell her!"

I spun around to look at Arthur, "What's going on?"

Britain shot the younger Nation a glare before holding up both hands in defense. "I swear that it was not _my_ fault."

"And it was _mine_?" America shouted, incredulous. I cringed at the sheer volume of it.

"Alright, enough! Enough." I raised my voice just enough to be heard clearly. It was a practice learned while teaching. Though I used to never stand up to my students, I had to sometimes call the class to order with a raised voice. I had no qualms in doing so with two arguing Nations. My, how times had changed. "What _the hell_ is going on?"

They both looked to each other and neither seemed to want to answer my question. Finally, Arthur let out a frustrated sigh. "I would have told you earlier, but I got sidetracked. Our discussion-"

"What. Is. Going. On?"

"Egypt surrendered to Germany. Just yesterday evening."

The world seemed to stop, skidding to a screeching halt in Britain's kitchen. "Wh-What?" A cold sweat broke out on my skin and I let out a breath I had been holding. Tears automatically welled in my eyes and I didn't have the awareness to force them away. "That—That—That can't be right…That's crazy! No. No. It can't be—" I looked frantically toward America and his head slowly nodded. He looked frightened by my fear, terrified of just how scared I was. I couldn't breathe. My tear-filled eyes turned to the floor in a blank stare.

I couldn't breathe.

It couldn't be possible.

No…

No!

 _Please_ , no.

_Please.._

Panic was starting to take hold and I felt the world begin to tilt dangerously. I stumbled to the side, holding my head with my free hand. Everything seemed to be shaking—my hands, my body, my breathing. My cane went clattering to the stone floor as I raised both hands to pull at my cropped hair. "N-No…I—" I tried to maintain some semblance of composure, but my voice was quivering. What could this all mean? Egypt. Gupta. Egypt had surrendered? What—I couldn't— "E-Egypt can't be—" My knees gave out and I started to collapse.

Arms wrapped around my torso and I was hauled to a nearby chair. "Breathe. You need to breathe, Michelle." The person was brushing my hair from my face as he turned to whoever was behind him. "America, get a cool rag. She's having a panic attack." His hands continued to brush my hair back. "It will be fine, love. Everything will be fine. You just need to breathe. In and out. In and out. There's a girl."

"E-Egypt—" The weight of it was just too much. Although normally, I could keep my composure, this was simply too much for my fortitude to bear. I let out a desperate sob and tried to fold myself in, pressing my hands to my face. Ever so gently, I was pulled into a chest. I just began sobbing, breaking. It chilled me to the bone to hear myself. It just…hurt. So much. It was worse. It was so much worse that the darkness of that cellar. It was worse. My chest...hurt. I wanted—"This—This—"

"Shh," Britain murmured. He began rocking backward and forward, trying to calm me down. I felt so pathetic, even as I gripped the collar of his uniform. "Shh, now. Shh."

"DAMN IT!" Jerking at the sudden shout, I felt Arthur's hand rest on my head and keep it pressed against his shoulder. That was America's voice. It was America shouting like that.

"He can get upset sometimes. That boy does not like to feel useless." There was a fatherly note to Britain's voice, like he had seen it all and been there before. He probably _had_. He continued to brush his hands through my hair, comfortingly and carefully. As thought I would break. Maybe I was breaking. "Seeing you so hurt is what's setting him off." Some crash sounded overhead and I winced. Arthur sighed, "He's going to owe me a new lamp."

"E-Egypt—"

"He is alive. Of course. Gupta is a Nation, after all. He can't die. None of us can. We're immortal."

Boots smacked against the hardwood floors as America stomped back into the kitchen. I lifted my head a little, eyes still blurred with tears. Alfred looked like…nothing I had ever seen before. He looked ready to murder someone, blue eyes flashing with anger. Anyone else might've flinched back when he suddenly reached for them, especially with such a thunderous expression on his face. I, however, remained as still as I could. His hand came to rest on the top of my head before he knelt down. That righteous anger melted away, leaving a world-weary frown.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. He gently pressed the cool rag against my face and I felt my eyes close. I took in a deep breath and tried to regain my composure. The sobs still broke through though. I couldn't stop them. "Geez, I'm so sorry…"

"I-It's not...your-your fault."

He stopped, pulling the rag away. "I'm supposed to be the hero, Michelle."

"It's—It's not your time yet." My eyes opened and I stared down at the Nation. "It's not time, America."

"But—"

"Blood hell, America. This isn't about _you_." Britain hissed over my head. His hold on me tightened ever so slightly, but it was enough to catch my attention. I shifted and angled myself away until he got the message that I wanted my own seat. Like the gentleman I knew lurked somewhere beneath the gruff…prat, he gently settled me into the same chair he had been sitting in. Instead, he moved across the kitchen to lean against the counter with his arms crossed. "From your reaction, I would say that you were… close to him?"

Pulling my brows together at the tone of his voice, I turned to face the British man fully. What was that tone? I couldn't place it. "Egypt is friend, a really good friend." His green eyes dropped to the floor and I narrowed my own. "Britain, did you withdraw your troops?"

"No! Why does everyone think that? My troops were _pushed_ out of the borders. There was nothing I could do. Germany's forces were simply too strong. That's not to mention that Egypt's government formally endorsed the fascist Italian government. That did not help."

"They really did it?" I gasped, wringing my hands together. My raging emotions were coming under control again. "Egypt—Egypt told me that they were considering it. He said that was why he had to get me and the King out as soon as possible." I let out a shaky breath and moved to cradle my head in my hands.

Egypt had known.

He'd known what was going to happen.

He'd gotten me out of his borders.

He knew.

" _I will not allow you to be returned to Germany, Michelle. Please trust me."_

America shifted so that he was sitting on the floor, arms resting on his knees. His back was to the wall. "Shelly, did this happen in your timeline? Or world? Or wherever the heck you're actually came from?"

My head shook, "Egypt remained under British control throughout the war. Germany was pushed out entirely in 1942." I sighed and raised my head again to find the two Nations staring at each other across the room.

It was happening.

The thing I feared most:

"The timeline is changing."

Sometime later, I sat alone in the parlor of Arthur's countryside cottage. My hair was a mess, a tangled heap. My clothing was rumpled and looked generally unkempt. I just couldn't bring myself to care. I was too far gone in my thoughts to give a damn about appearances. I just…kept staring at the world map.

It was pinned to the wall with various little pins sticking out of it. Several of the pins were placed in the capital cities of the world nations. I supposed that these were the homes of the Nations. There were two in Barcelona, probably signifying Romano and Spain. The latter of which I could do without seeing again. My last encounter with the Spaniard had been less than pleasant. There were also two pins in Berlin, Prussia and Germany. Yet another two that I could do without encountering again. My gaze floated over toward Moscow, where a slew of pins rested. Soviet Union.

Then, I allowed my eyes to trail to the one country I had been avoiding.

A single pin rested over Alexandria.

And suddenly, those needles were in my eyes as the tears sprang up again.

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind. My eyes closed and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

" _Correlation does not imply causation."_

"Perhaps," I muttered in response to Egypt's words, "but it sure does hint at it."

My fault.

I wasn't foolish enough to believe my presence was unrelated to Egypt's capture. I was the one that warned Britain of Halfaya Pass. I was the one who likely brought Egypt Germany's ire.

This was all. my. fault.

Sighing, I brought a hand up to brush the tangles from my face. My eyes slid open.

I hadn't seen this vision since my internment.

Blood coated my hand.

With deliberate slowness, I raised my other hand and stared at the crimson that melted over my fingers and palms. Pressing my lips together, I was determined not to lose my composure. Not like I had in the early morning hours. With both Britain and America already on edge, my loss of sanity was a second-fiddle.

It wasn't even in the orchestra.

My sanity sat at the back of the audience. Standing room only.

"Shell?"

Blinking, I watched as the blood faded away. My hands lowered as I turned to see America watching me in the doorway. He looked at me with a little confusion, obviously having seen my haunted expression as I stared at my visibly clean hands.

"You… okay?"

"I'm fine," I answered hurriedly. "Just thinking. Care to join me?"

" _Thinking_? Nah, I'm good. I don't particularly like to just sit and think when I can run and do." He snorted and shook his head. In a few quick steps, he was standing in front of the map with his hands on his hips. "Pretty cool, huh? Everybody's on this map. See, he even has the States up here. Gee, I wonder why the Southern cohort is all in blue…Bastard. He just loves to rub it in my face." America paused, glancing back at me. "How long did you know? About us, I mean?"

I'd been expecting this since I told them I knew. In fact, I was quite surprised that it took him this long to ask. At this point though, I didn't see a point in lying. Where would it get me anyway? Things were already going to hell. Honesty had become the best policy. It would avoid drama in the future as well. Why not? What did it matter anymore? "I've known the whole time."

Alfred articulated his confusion with a very intelligent, "Huh?"

Sighing, I pressed a hand to my head. A headache had been crackling in the inside of my skull since my sobbing hours earlier. Now, as evening was falling, that headache was only growing worse. A pounding throb at my temples that wrapped around to the back of my head. "I've known about your status as a Nation since arriving in this world." Something caught my attention and I turned to my right. "I can see the edge of your sleeve, Arthur. I really hope that your spy network is better trained." Despite my down mood, amusement bubbled in my chest as Arthur stepped in the room.

His chin was raised and he didn't deign to give me a look. "My spies are the best in the world."

"Britain, sending Brits like you into places like France and Italy… They stick out like sore thumbs, dude."

That was enough to set Arthur off. "As if you would know! You know nothing of subtlety or the fine art of subter—"

" _Whatever_! Your spies suck."

"I knew about your world because where I come from… this world is fictional."

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Really, that wasn't quite how I wanted to explain this whole situation. I just decided to throw it out there to keep Britain from blowing up at America. Again. I should get tax rebates for every time I keep America from getting chewed out. Just a thought. Shrugging my shoulders, I glanced from Nation to Nation.

America snorted, "Way to drop that bomb, Shell. You just keep lobbing grenades at us. Did being kidnapped make you tough as nails? 'I know you're Nations.' 'You're actually fictional.' What're you gonna say next, huh? That you actually hate Johnny's cooking? Or that your world is fictional, too. Or that we exist there and here. Maybe not here and there. Eh, I don't know what the hell I'm sayin'. Just stop throwing declarative grenades!" Giving him a wan smile, I just shifted in my chair and gave Britain a quick glance to see if was still riled. He wasn't. Instead, he wore a slightly contemplative expression as he watched me. "Fiction, right? So…what? We're not real? I feel pretty dang real, though!"

"Where I come from, you're not _technically_ real. Here, you are very much real." I frowned, shaking my head. "The nations exist where I'm from, but there are not National embodiments."

"Perhaps there are and you are just unaware of them," Britain said after a moment.

It was a thought that I had never truly considered before. What if Nations _did_ exist in my world? It was a secret to most of the humans here. Keeping that sort of thing under wraps in the modern age…It just didn't seem likely. My head shook, "No. I don't think so. Anyway, you're all characters in a work of fiction called 'Hetalia.'"

"Hetala—Wha?"

"Hetalia," I nodded. America gave me a confused look and moved to lean on the wall next to the window. His arms crossed over his chest. I pressed my lips together and readied myself for this discussion. I had imagined it numerous times while I was…locked up.

How America would react.

How Britain would react.

Now, I was going to find out just how well I knew them. Or at least how well my subconscious knew them. "Hetalia. It sorta means 'cute useless Italy.'" America snorted, and then promptly burst into loud laughter. Even Britain looked somewhat amused with the corner of his mouth ticking upwards. "Yeah, so I'm certain you can guess who the main character is?"

"ME!"

Britain was exasperated by America's triumphant yell. "You're such a git!"

"Dude, I'm the hero! So I have to be the main character!"

"Italy is obviously the main character! Do you know nothing of context clues?"

Alfred looked confused, "What're those?"

"Argh!" Chuckling at Britain's distress, I tried not to outright laugh when he turned to glare at me. I rested a hand over my mouth and staunched my amusement. That was the lightest I had felt since I had found out about Egypt. That thought made my smile fade away again and I lowered my hand once more. "I assume that we are all present in this…Hetalia?"

"Yes," I nodded. "It has its serious moments. Most of it focuses on the humor though. Your characterizations were accurate, if sometimes…exaggerated. You could consider it a satire of world history, culture, and interactions. The fandom—or fan base—for the work is extremely diverse and extremely large. Some are more obsessed than others, but they all share a love for the same thing. It's really…something special. Like any fandom, I guess, but Hetalia fans…are a special breed. I don't know how to describe it. The bases for particular characters are pretty broad as well, come to think of it."

"So…how big is _my_ fan base, huh?" America questioned with an eager grin. I heard Britain give a snort across the table. Of course that would be America's primary concern. Nevermind the fiction or the impossibility of it all. "I know a hero like me has to have, like, a zillion screaming fans! I bet I'm cooler than all the comic book heroes, right?"

When I kept silent, it wasn't because I was trying to avoid the question.

It was because I recognized this conversation.

From a dark, dank cellar…

_Alone._

My hallucination had the exact same reaction. He said the exact same words.

My heart began to beat faster as I tried to wrangle in my fraying emotions.

No, I was keeping such good control over it.

_Alone. Dark._

Stop. Stop. Stop.

America interpreted my silence as a negative. "WHAT? I'm totally the hero! I should have so many fans! I bet I do! I bet I have more than Britain!" When I still didn't say anything, he sounded like he was choking. This was too similar. It was the exact same as before. I felt sick. "What? No _way_. That guy can't have more fans than me. He's old and grumpy and—"

"I wouldn't be surprised if I _did_ have more fans," Britain drawled.

"That's just…wrong! I'm younger and cooler and sexier and I'm—I'M THE HERO!"

"I beg your pardon! What was that, you twat?" Arthur leaped up from his seat, waving about a fist in the air. "I'll have you know that I'm quite dashing!"

"Chyeah! _Dashing_ to make sure you don't burn your nasty-ass scones!"

"It's an adjective, not a verb! You ruddy buffoon!"

"It's both!"

I remained sitting, trying to gain my composure again.

I couldn't deal with a relapse, not with them in the room.

"Y-You both have about the s-same amount, I think. The same a-amount of fans."

"THAT'S EVEN WORSE!" They both shouted in unison, glaring over the table.

Seeing that I wasn't going to be able to keep my emotions bottled up any longer, I stood from the table and made for the door. Both of the Nations stopped throttling each other for a moment. When had they been able to get in contact with each other? "Where're you going?" I waved over my shoulder and gave a quick excuse before bolting out of the parlor.

My heart was thundering in my ears, just like it always did whenever I lost self-control. In my distress, I didn't pay attention to where I was going. I fled down several different corridors until I arrived to a particularly deserted part of the house. Tears now streaming down my cheeks from my building terror, I opened the nearest door and threw myself inside. In my haste, I dropped my cane just inside the door and made for the corner, easing myself down in the embrace of the two walls.

I felt so…useless again. Like I had felt back in New York. Only now, it was a million times worse. And the nightmares were going to come back with a vengeance. I knew that the nightmares would return, just because I could see the image of blood coating my hands.

Not to mention, I had new material to have bad dreams about.

And solitary darkness.

Since that morning, I hadn't allowed myself to fall apart.

Even when it happened, that outburst had not been even a fraction of how I felt.

Egypt had never fallen in my world.

The history I knew was changing.

And it had to be my fault.

Not bothering to hold in my sob—for I knew that neither Britain nor America would come looking for me—I just allowed myself to let go. All of the fear that coursed through my veins, ran out of my eyes like a torrent. All of my fear for myself. For Egypt. For my friends. For the world. The anxiety was slowly devouring me, from the inside out. I couldn't even bear to think about what could happen to Egypt in the hands of Germany—especially if Germany knew that the African Nation had housed _me_. What if he hurt him for information? My eyes felt so tired from crying.

I really was pathetic, wasn't I?

To be sitting alone, crying over something that I could not change?

What would my mother think? What would Donna or Corey say?

Why couldn't everything go back to the way it used to be?

I had changed the future. I had warned the Allies of certain events.

And Egypt had paid the price for my weakness.

This was my fault.

The blood was no longer nameless.

 _His_ blood was on my hands.

I eased my heavy eyelids up and let my legs fall straight out. My hands rested in my lap, coated red. This time, I just stared at the hallucination. I just stared and couldn't bring myself to deny it any longer.

Out of nowhere, a hand came to rest on my wrist. The blood disappeared in an instant, with a startled blink, leaving my thin fingers pale white once more. With wide eyes, I turned toward the owner of that hand.

He was staring at me, a mixture between compassion and uncertainty written on his features. Behind his glasses, I could see clear blue eyes—like the sky. After a moment, he shifted and his brows pulled together in concern. "Are you alright, eh?" How…How could no one see him? He looked solid as a rock kneeling beside me.

In a moment of sheer impulse, I lifted the hand that he was not grasping and pressed a finger to his knee. He looked surprised, but otherwise did nothing. Clearing my throat, I used that same hand to brush away my tears. I probably looked a mess. Taking a deep breath through my nose (not the slightest bit embarrassed by the rattling sound that emitted from it), I sighed and let my head fall back against the wall. "I'm—I'm fine."

"You didn't look 'fine.'" Carefully, he released his hold on my wrist and moved to sit across from me in that little alcove. His voice was quiet, yes, but not squeaky like in the anime dub. I wondered at how slight that difference was. "I'm Matthew. Nice to meet you."

"M-Michelle," I supplied after a moment of surprise. He really was as nice as he was portrayed.

Of course he was. The characterizations were never wrong. They just sometimes embellished the truth.

"How much did you see, Matthew?"

He considered me for a moment, "Enough to know that you're hurting." I nodded. Well, that much was true enough. I didn't have the _energy_ to feel embarrassed by it. "Are you the Michelle that Arthur told me about?"

I got over my shock quickly. Of course the Allies knew. And Canada was very much a part of the alliance; no matter how often history forgot him. "That's me. Yes."

"They forgot to tell you that I was here, didn't they?" He already knew the answer, but he was asking anyway. I gave a small nod, confirming his thoughts. "I thought so…" In my head, I could practically hear the ' _those hosers'_ tacked onto the end. "Ah, well…"

"You're Canada," I said.

He jerked, clearly startled by the fact that I knew his secret identity. "You—You know that, too?"

"Yes, I know. They didn't tell you that either, huh?" His head shook, the stray curls bouncing. I could hardly believe that they _forgot_ he was in the house. Then again, maybe they did. Taking a deep breath, I brushed my sleeves against my cheeks. I just felt so tired now. I slumped into the corner and pulled my legs up to rest my arms on them. He mirrored the way I was sitting, both of us looking over our knees at each other. "You know that I know about the future, right?"

"I know that much," he nodded. "I know that Greece got you out of Germany's…hold." Matthew looked curious, but didn't ask anything about what the future could hold and I appreciated it more than he could know. "You don't just know the future, eh?"

"Not just the future," I agreed. "I know about the Nations. I've known since arriving."

"I, uh, don't mean to sound rude, but…Why didn't you tell anyone? I mean, I know that America's loud and brash and an—"

"It was best not to tell anyone. I already knew too much. It wasn't fear of what America would do. Ultimately, he's my home. I trust him to do the right thing, somehow. Eventually." I sighed and closed my tired eyes, resting my head against the wall. "Do you prefer Matthew or Canada?"

He was quiet for a few moments, then, "You want to know my name?"

"Everyone seems to have different preferences for what they want to be called. I've been alternating with Arthur and Alfred, but that's because I'm so used to calling them by their human names. E-Egypt asked that I call him 'Egypt' instead of 'Gupta.'" I opened my eyes and looked to the stunned Nation who sat across from me. His legs were now crossed and a little white bear sat in his arms.

"I…No one has ever asked me that before." He hugged the bear and gave me a small smile. "Matthew, or America likes to call me 'Mattie.'"

Smiling slightly in return, I nodded my head. "I'll stick to Matthew." My gaze skittered to the bear, but I didn't ask about it. I already knew what the bear was and I didn't think a talking animal would do much for my mental stability at the moment.

It was time to stop moping, I decided after a moment.

I had a good cry and…Now it was time to pick myself up and keep going. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I pulled myself up off the floor and glanced down to where Matthew was still sitting. He glanced up at me, baby blues behind his glasses. Pushing the last of my self-pity away to the farthest corner of my mind, I reached down and offered him a hand.

Matthew reminded me of the quiet kids in class. They were there, but you could hardly notice them for how quiet they were. They were the most intelligent students, always wrote the best papers and always knew the most about the subjects, but were generally too shy to speak up. Matthew would have been that kid in class. The one at the front row corner, farthest from the door. He would have his notes ready to go before I would even enter the room.

He took my hand and stood up. I realized with a grin that he was as tall, if not a bit taller, than America. Probably due to the sheer size of his land mass (absolutely no innuendo intended). "You're not like what I expected."

"I hope that's a good thing," I laughed lightly, hobbling over to retrieve my cane from the floor.

"You're nice," he stated quietly. "I mean, you're not mean or… crazy." The crazy bit was becoming increasingly debatable if my recent lapses into psychosis were anything to go by. He seemed to notice my expression and he gasped, "I didn't mean anything by that!"

"Don't worry. I was thinking about something else." Gesturing toward the doorway, I moved to hold the door open for him. He looked a little stunned by the action and raced forward to hold the door himself. I allowed him to do so, more than aware of how important chivalry was in this decade. "We should probably go meet with Arthur and Alfred. They're probably arguing or something." I glanced down the hallway and pulled my brows together. "Where are we anyway?"

"Huh? Oh. This is the annex. It's where a lot of meetings are held." I stopped, glancing back into the room we had just exited. There was a chalkboard on the wall and a table at the center of the room. I bit back a snort of laughter. It was the meeting room from the anime. Perhaps a year before, I might've been a bit more enthusiastic, but the enthusiasm for the fandom was slowly melting away and the real life was winning over. Pulling my gaze away from the annex, I started toward the main house. "Are you alright, Michelle?"

"Probably not," I said evenly. "Someday, I will be."


	18. Knowing

_If you're going through hell, keep going. -_ Winston Churchill, 1940

Uncertain, I glanced toward where Matthew was sitting. He gave me a helpless shrug and shook his head, dirty blond hair swinging about his face. My patience was wearing thin. I could feel it. Unlike myself when I was in my own world, I had grown into a more mature woman here in the world of _Hetalia._ Be it by the psychological torture or the strange circumstances, I had matured over the past year and a half. Whereas _before_ I might've just kept my head down and my voice to myself, I was no longer the same person. My patience was wearing and wearing and wearing. Soon enough, I was going to lose my tolerance.

They had been at it for over an hour. And, frankly, their attitudes were really starting to _piss me off._ My arms crossed over my chest and I tried to keep my temper in check.

When did my fuse get so short?

Once again, I glanced toward Matthew and noted that he looked a little irritated as well. Yeah, this had gone on long enough. If _Canada_ was losing his cool, then play time was over. I cleared my throat to gain their attentions.

Ah, screw it.

"Both of you shut up!"

Surprised at the sound of my raised voice, both of the Nations froze and looked toward me. For a moment, I reminded myself of Germany during the World Conference. I felt my glare harden. I couldn't allow myself to feel bad for that comparison. Germany wasn't evil, especially not the one in the future. Or what I assumed to be the future. Anyway, now I felt a little sympathy for future-Germany. He had to deal with this during every meeting. No wonder he yelled so much.

"Michelle?"

I let out a puff of air and rolled my shoulders back. "The two of you are acting like children. What does it matter who had the bigger fan base in another world? Are you or are you not adults? Are you or are you not in the middle of a _war_? Get it together and _act like it_. You're embarrassing yourselves." Growling in irritation, I pulled myself up and headed for the kitchen, gently prodding Matthew's leg with my cane as I moved past him. "Do you want to help? I was thinking about pancakes."

He was on his feet in an instant.

"Pancakes? For supper?" Arthur balked, obviously trying to hide his anger for my scolding. His hands rested on his hips. "That—"

"Sounds awesome! Yes! I love pancakes!" America shouted, fist pumping. His hand smacked Arthur in the shoulder. An obvious show of 'shut up, man' before he sent the elder Nation a meaningful glare. "Cook whatever you want, Shelly!"

Rolling my eyes, I exited the room. "They're just letting off steam. I get that, but can't they just…play chess or something? Do they have to argue all the time?" My head shook as I got a pan out from the cabinet. "Honestly, Matthew, how do you put up with it?"

"I don't," he responded with a quiet laugh. He sat the small white bear on a chair at the table and turned toward me. "I mean, they never know if I'm here or not. When they get like that, I just leave." At my surprised glance, he shrugged his shoulders and gave a small smile. "Whatever works, eh?"

It took all of my concentration not to cringe at the stereotype shining through. It was one of the only times that the characterization of the anime actually irritated me. I couldn't quite say why. Perhaps my irritation was because I spent a good amount of time in Canada… and the fact that Dr. Palmer hailed from Toronto.

Probably the latter, in hindsight. I had listened raptly to Dr. Palmer's rants on the American perception of Canada throughout my years of college. Even in emails during graduate school. Sure, he was a professor of American Studies, but that was because he found the American Revolution to be extremely interesting. And he studied at MIT. When people would discover his actual heritage, they would laugh and ask him to say 'aboot' or ask if he knew someone from Vancouver. Dr. P just couldn't stand it. Besides, Dr. Palmer was also one of the most outspoken and charismatic people in my life.

Seeing Canada act so…subdued…was a little unnerving.

Then again, maybe I was wrong to put Dr. Palmer and Matthew in the same boat…just because they're both Canadian.

I mixed the batter for the pancakes a little more roughly than necessary and glanced over to where Matthew was getting some sausages from the cooler. Yes, I was wrong to think of the comparison to begin with. It would be like looking for America and me to be similar.

"How are you handling everything?"

He stopped, looking over to me with a curious expression. "Huh?"

Well, now I saw the resemblance with America. It was clear before, yes, but only a little. The two acted so different… "You're at war, too. I just wanted to know if you're alright. Britain is in almost constant pain. I know that Hungary was, too. Everyone is good at hiding it, but you can tell if you look hard enough."

Matthew was obviously stunned, but he let out a light laugh and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, I'm fine. Nothing to worry about here." The smell of the sausage was a bit overwhelming and I turned to continue my ministrations with the pancakes. With a careful hand, I flipped one over and then the next. "It does hurt, but you get used to it. After a while."

I turned to him again and saw a small smile playing on his lips. There a calm sort of acceptance in his tone. "I'm sorry." Sorry that he had to go through this. That any of them had to suffer. It seemed foolish to apologize, but the words weren't hollow. I really felt an ache for how much each Nation was suffering. Canada was certainly no exception. "Matthew, things will get worse before they get better."

He nodded, smile dimming just a bit. "I know. That's how it always is. Things always get worse before they get better. At least…At least this is going better than the First Great War. My parliament agreed to it this time. Last time, I was _forced_ to fight. This time, I _chose_ to fight. It makes a big difference." He sighed and took to pushing the sausage around the skillet and placed it. I flipped another pancake. "The conscription crisis is…a headache."

Ah _, this_ I knew! Turning off the eye, I sat the plate of pancakes onto the table and settled down, watching as Matthew set about readying the rest of dinner. "I'm sure you know how that's gonna end, right?"

Matthew nodded, "Just…I wanted to keep my men safe. If they're on my land, then they won't come to harm." He lowered his voice and leaned over the table so I could hear. "Britain said that I'm too much like France. Said that I'm letting my men just sit around while his people are killed." There was a note of bitterness to his tone and I watched with interest as he settled himself down in the chair beside Kumojiro. The bear turned to look at him, but said nothing. "My prime minister is struggling to keep people in check right now." (1)

Bowing my head, I stared at my hands. There was no blood on them at the moment, but how long would it be before the bloody images returned? In the meantime, I needed to focus on the issues in front of me. My own insanity could wait until the dead of night. "Everything will settle down. Just remember, that you can't always please everyone. Do what's best for you and be damned whatever Arthur thinks."

"Who are you and what have you done with sweet little Michelle Daniels?" A jovial laugh broke us from the serious air of our conversation. America bounded into the room and noisily took the seat next to me. "You're gettin' pretty B.A., Shell's Bells. I'm confused. You used to be all quiet and now you're just tellin' people to ignore Britain and tellin' him off and—Don't get me wrong. It's entertaining as hell.—you're just a lot different from before. You could barely tell Johnny off...before…"

After a moment of contemplation, my shoulders shrugged. Despite it all, America was still in the dark regarding my time in Austria. He didn't know the finer details. There was no way I would tell him what happened to make me harder. "It's raining. Rain makes me irritable."

"Best plan for a long bought of general ill-temper, Michelle." Arthur commented off-handedly as he strode into the kitchen. He shot me a glare, showing that he had overheard my damning of his thoughts. I sent him a defiant stare. "As for you, Canada, you should listen to what I say. You _are_ a part of my commonwealth."

"You owe him more than a billion dollars," I responded with ease. America nearly spat out his tea. I felt a smile pull at my lips. Ignoring Arthur's squawk of offense, I turned to Matthew and waved him off with a loose hand. "Respect him. Always respect him. Respect doesn't mean mindless obedience though. Do your own thing. Your population will figure it out." Alfred caught my eye and gave me slightest nod before I decided to redirect the conversation. "Pancakes, anyone?"

It occurred to me after dinner that there was no way I could 'call' New York. The transatlantic cable wouldn't be laid until the fifties and thus there was no way for phones to call across the ocean. All of the stress must have fried my intelligence if I had forgotten such a detail. Instead, it seemed my only choice was to communicate through radio transmission. It would be a lot faster than by letter and, from what I understood, Johnny needed to know I was alright pronto. Before he got himself into international trouble. Sighing at the very thought, I turned to my Nation. He was reading on the sofa, eyes scanning the page.

For a moment, it was a very normal scene. America sat on the sofa, nose in a book. Canada sat in a chair by the window, listening quietly to the buzzing radio. Britain stared out into the water-drenched night. It was almost peaceful, especially after the terribleness of the day.

"What's up, Shelly?"

Blinking, I returned my attention to the scene and to America. His brows were raised in question. Pulling a smile onto my face, I decided to savor the peace while it lasted. "I need to get in touch with Johnny."

"Chyeah, you do! Johnny-boy's gonna go crazy waitin' to hear from ya!" He flipped the book closed and I was able to see the cover of it. He smirked widely when he saw me staring. "You didn't think I was illiterate, right Shell's Bells?" Still a little stunned at his casual reading of _War and Peace_ , I shook my head. "That's right. You know I'm the smartest out there, right?"

"I beg to differ," Britain muttered. "Just because he was flipping the pages doesn't mean he was actually reading it."

"Screw you, Britain." America retorted. He stood from the sofa and strode over to me, holding out a hand. "C'mon then, Shelly! Let's get you in touch with a State. You can use the radio."

"She most certainly may NOT use the radio! That's reserved for upper level personnel only!" Britain's screeching voice reverberated throughout the house as Alfred led me out of the sitting room. I could hear the squeal of the chair on the hardwoods as Arthur threw himself to his feet behind us. A flash of irritation broke through as I was rather unable to use my cane to maneuver through the hallway. "America! She can't use the radio! It's for National use only! America!"

I was guided by my shoulders through the hallways toward the annex, where there was a door immediately past the steps. There was a moment when I wasn't exactly sure what both of them were arguing about, but it seemed that America sensed my unease. "Britain's just bein' a jerk. Seems like a trend for him, right?" Alfred reached over my shoulder to turn the handle to the door and practically shoved me inside. The lights were flipped on just after our entrance by a fuming British man.

"She can't use it and that's final!"

"Britain," America's loud voice toned itself down just a bit. I turned to see that Alfred had crossed his arms and was staring over at Arthur with a look that clearly said to 'back off.' "Johnny needs to hear from her. He _needs_ it. My family needs to know she's safe. If you got a problem with that, then take it up with me later. She's using the radio."

Britain's glare shifted to me and I resisted the urge to just throw up my hands and find another way to contact New York. The heat behind Arthur's glare was nothing short of sweltering. He was prone to mood swings, it seemed. There was a never a shortage of glares from him. "Fine. Though I very much doubt the girl can speak in code. The line must remain secure. What say you to that, America?"

A word in that caught my attention.

Excitement and hope buzzed through me, making my chest seem to tingle. It was that sort of giddy, happy excitement that I got when praise was leveled my way in school or whenever something undeniably good was about to happen. What sort of person gets a rush from a single word? _Code_. Put in this context and with my education: me. A breathy laugh escaped me before I beamed toward Alfred with a sort of self-pride that I rarely had or exhibited.

"I can do this. It'll be more secure than anything you've ever seen."

Both Nations looked at me in utter confusion.

"Tkin. Na-as-tso-si. Ne-ash-jah. Klizzie-yazzi."

America's eyes dimmed for a moment, as if he were trying to remember something important. Britain made a noise at the back of his throat before laughing. "What in _the world_ was that nonsense?"

"I'm okay," Alfred stated.

"Perhaps you are, but your citizen surely isn't. She's speaking in tongues!"

There was a breathless laugh as America looked to me. "No, Arthur. That's what she just said. _I'm okay._ " He ignored Arthur's stunned step backward and focused on my face, looking for any trace of falsehood. "You're kidding, right? You know that code?"

I shrugged, giving him a small grin. How often did I kid around, anyway?

His smile was vibrant when he realized that I wasn't joking. "For real? You're kidding! You can speak it?"

"No," I cut him off. "I can't speak it. I know the coding for the letters. My professor for a seminar course in code-talkers made us memorize the code-language breakdown for English letter translation. I can do letter-by-letter, but that's it. Nothing fancy, but it should be enough." Confidence swept through me (as well as a heavy dose of pride). Finally something I could be proud of. "Guess I didn't memorize it for nothing, huh?"

"Get on that radio, Shelly!" America rushed forward and began pressing buttons. "This is a Sigba—SIGBA—It codes everything anyway, but this would make it really, really unbreakable. Psh, Germany won't be able to figure out a damn thing, if you're gonna do what I think you're gonna do. It's gonna be complete gibberish. Dude, this is awesome!"

A hand slammed down onto the desk before I could press a key. We both turned to look Britain, stopping our excited movements. "Which is _what_ exactly? What is she going to do? Need I remind you that you are using _my_ machine."

"That _I_ gave to you," America snorted.

Sitting back in the chair, I decided that it was best to be patient with Britain for the time-being. He was likely worried that any message that was sent would be decoded and would lead to even more bloodshed. And I could understand that fear. That being said, I was supremely confident that it was going to be much more difficult that he was giving me credit for.

"Arthur, I know what I'm doing."

"You're _not_ a cryptologist. You're a teacher."

My head shook, "Perhaps not. Still, I know what I'm doing. I can't give you anything more than that without endangering an America code system that remains secure even until my time. No one ever broke our code." America puffed up his chest with pride. "Suffice to say that Germany has a much weaker code system than what I'm about to use. No one but an American could figure it out. Even then, it will take some hard work. I know what I'm doing."

Britain leaned back and crossed his arms. He was clearly not happy, but decided to let it go for the moment. "If you screw this up, Michelle, you will not hear the end of it."

Ha. I didn't doubt that for a moment.

Glancing to Alfred, I bit my lip. "Can I assume that this is connected to—"

"My house? Yep. Virginia will probably get it. If not her, then Philadelphia will."

"So I can get them to contact—"

"Emmanuel or Maria?" I assumed those to be Arizona and New Mexico. America was a couple steps ahead of me. I knew my Nation was smart! Pride welled up inside of me for him, especially since Britain was watching us interact. Alfred was showing just how intelligent he was. "Yep. No problem, Shell. You can say that much out of code, I think. To get Maria and Emmanuel. The Sigba will encode it enough. It's when you mention yourself that you need to code it more. It'd be super-secure." I nodded in understanding and turned to the keys. My fingers cautiously moved across the type-set, not used to anything like this. It was like an antique form of text-messaging. The fifteen rotaries inside encoded the message in such a way that the Germans could never understand.

GET MESSAGE TO EMMANUEL OR MARIA FOR TRANSLATION. TO JOHN J.

I glanced up to America and he nodded, smiling. Feeling more confident, I continued with my improvised Navajo language code. It would have already been developed by this point and was likely being refined. Arizona or New Mexico would know what it said. I was certain of it.

ITS SHELL. OKAY. SAFE. MISS YOU AND OTHERS. LOVE YOU. BE SAFE. (2)

"That seems really short," America murmured after a moment. "Not gonna say anything else?"

"Nothing else is needed," I answered. "No sense in wasting time with anything else." Pushing the chair back, I stood from the desk and looked toward where Britain was leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed and he looked angry about something. Then again, when was he _not_ angry about something or other? His gaze flicked up to me and he looked ready to say something. "Yes, Arthur?"

After a moment of silence, he scoffed and pushed off the wall. "You wasted precious military equipment time to send a note like that?"

"What did you expect me to do? It got the message across. He knows I'm alright now. Maybe next time you two meet, he punch you in the throat." Shrugging, I turned to Alfred and ignored Arthur as he stomped from the small radio room. "Thanks. I feel better now that I've talked to him. At least, somehow." America just smiled and motioned toward the door. His voice rose to a shout as we stepped into the hallway. So loud that I cringed.

"Yo, Britain! You gonna drown your sorrows in tea? I've got plenty in the harbor to help you out, man!" Letting out a peal of energetic laughter, he darted for the main house and sent me a salute over his shoulder. "Someone's gotta loosen that Bossy Brit up or he'll have an aneurysm or somethin'!"

Alfred had brought some of my clothes from John's house when he knew I was coming to London. It was a creature-comfort, to be sure. Having my own clothing was like reconnecting with myself, on some strange level at least. The feel of the familiar fabric was like finding a bit of a childhood blanket or some such item of sentiment. I chose my most comfortable nightgown (one with the ugliest print of green leaves on a pea green background) and had just finished removing the pins from my hair when a knock sounded at my door.

Quickly, I pulled a dressing gown over my night dress. It was unusual for someone to be awake past midnight, though I would imagine that the differences in time would affect how late America and Canada slept. I didn't bother to grab my cane as a moved to the door. Pulling it open, I was surprised to find Alfred standing there, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Uh, hey."

"Hey," I echoed. Weird. "What's up?"

"Can…Can we talk?" He gave me a pitiful look and I stared at him, not wanting to believe what I was seeing.

He was trying for the puppy-dog eyes.

After a moment of silence, I snorted and shook my head. If he were my littlest cousin, I would have caved in with a theatric 'aw,' but on a Nation the expression just looked ridiculous. "Knock it off with the pleading stare. You can come in." I turned and left the door open, walking toward the edge of my bed. I could hear him enter inside and click the door shut behind him. "I'm assuming that Arthur doesn't know your visiting."

"Yeah," America affirmed. He moved over to the other side of my bed and looked out of the window, hands in is pockets. It was _still_ raining. "Britain would call it indecent. I, uh, well…It's not _really_ indecent, right? We're not on that level. Really I'm probably old enough to be your great-great-great grandpa or somethin' like that anyway. And I just—Well, no."

Astonished that he had mentioned such a heavy topic, I sank onto my bed and watched as he slowly made his way over to the rocking chair by the window. I understood what he meant though. There was no interest in romance between us, so his presence in my room wouldn't be any sort of indecent or a smudge against my character. That had been obvious from the get-go, our lack of romantic interest. My head nodded and I folded my hands in my lap, waiting for him to put whatever was bothering him on the metaphorical table.

He sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. "You know, we can't die. Not really."

Pulling my brows together, I nodded. Where was he going with this? It wasn't usual for America to be so serious and heavy-hearted. Then, I realized that I had been honored with this. Alfred only kept up his mask when he felt it necessary to protect himself and his people. Dropping that mask in front of me and allowing me to see the true America beneath? It was an honor. And I knew something was up from the seriousness of his eyes. They weren't sparkling like they normally did.

He was _trusting_ me in this moment.

The mask was coming off.

"When Japan attacks, I won't die. I can't. It'll hurt like hell though."

My muscles froze for a second and he seemed to notice my bewildered expression.

"It's just…I can feel it comin', you know? I know he's gonna attack soon. Frank warned me before I came over here. Japan's mobilizing. It's…only a matter of time."

That's right, I realized. America had received warnings and had decoded several messages before Japan actually attacked. On top of the letter I had left him. The messages sent to him before the war started were lost in the bureaucratic nonsense, they were ignored, or they were shoved aside so that the States would have a _reason_ to go to war. Any of these could have been or were the case. Alfred was feeling the effects of that.

"I've gotten warnings, sure, but Japan knows _you_ exist. He's gonna assume that you told me something about him and whatever he's planning."

A beat of silence passed. I understood almost immediately. And the thought hadn't occurred to me before. "He'll attack earlier." Chills ran down my spine and my heart began to beat a little faster. America's eyes widened a bit and he nodded solemnly.

When was this time-roulette going to end? It's like I was spinning a loaded gun.

"Shelly, you really are one smart cookie. It took me a few days to puzzle that one out." America smiled slightly after a moment. He leaned back in the rocking chair and shut his eyes, resting his head back against the dark wood.

The cold reality of the notion was pressing down on my chest.

Pearl Harbor would no longer be December 7th.

Another day would live in infamy.

Japan wouldn't be foolish enough to attack on the _planned_ day. "I'm proud of you, you know?" America kept his eyes closed. "Wanna know why, Shells?" Surprised by the statement, I pulled my mind from the thoughts of Pearl Harbor's imminent demise. I didn't respond for a while and he laughed a little through his nose. "I'm gonna tell ya anyway." His eyes opened again and he stared at the ceiling. "You're a hero. And I'm tellin' you that… I'm proud of you. I'm proud you're one of mine."

"I'm not—I didn't—"

"You're brave. You stood up to Germany."

"He went easy on me," I argued weakly. Why couldn't they see that? For everything that I went through, there was so much worse happening. If anything, Germany kept me _safe_ from that. I could have died, yes, but I hadn't been placed in a camp and I wasn't killed straight off. It had to count for _something_. It wasn't as if I did any fighting. "Everything I experienced could have been a lot worse. He could have sent me to a camp. He could have just killed me outright, but he didn't."

"Germany's takin' enough lives right now. He's torn into pieces and, believe me, I know what that can do to a Nation." He noticed my flinch and he gave a sad smile. "When your citizens are divided like that, it can cause you the worst pain. Worse than if you're attacked. It feels like your body's attacking itself, from the inside. And I hate the bastard right now, for what he's doin' to Britain and the others. Still, he…he doesn't have a choice." America looked right at me and I kept the eye contact. "None of us have a choice, Michelle. Not even me."

There is was again: choice.

What was he trying to tell me? My mind sped through numerous possibilities until one rose above the rest. My mouth went dry and I tried to ignore my own thoughts. It couldn't be. And still, it was the only logical conclusion.

"You're going to let it happen," I breathed out.

He shut his eyes tightly before leaning forward to lower his head into his hands, his elbows propped on his bony knees. "My people will die and I can't stop it."

"It can't be for another month! There's still time—" I cut myself off and stared at my Nation. Now I could _see_ it. I could see his conflict and his _resolve_. Just in the way his fingers tightened around his hair. "You—You need something to get you into the war."

"It's not just that. I wish it was. I don't have enough power to do anything to stop it. None of us do. We don't know when he plans to attack. We just know that Japan is posturing. He's tryin' to freak us out. Frank isn't all that worried, but…Japan's stubborn. He'll attack. It's just a matter of when, where, and how." His head shook and he refused to look at anything but the floor. "If it doesn't happen, there could be a higher cost to be paid down the line. I'm not _letting_ it happen. It just _will_ happen."

Bang. Bang.

I felt my heart sink, just like the ships that were stationed in that Pacific harbor. Such terrible deaths. I knew stories. It was my job to know stories about Pearl Harbor—to pass them on to the next generations. When my family took a trip to Hawaii, I visited the memorials. I knew tales of the attack that would make anyone sick. In fact, I could feel myself becoming sick at the very shadow of a thought. Old raspy voices telling me just how their friends were killed. Aged voices with pained lilts talking of their last night of peace and the morning from hell. Men who were trapped in the storeroom of a sunken ship, dying after sixteen days of solitude under the waves.

Terrible, terrible ways to die. Memories that America had long forgotten and yet bore the scars of in present day. It was coming, faster than ever. Only a matter of time before smoke billowed over a paradise.

There was nothing I could do to stop it.

Alfred just looked so tortured. And I could barely imagine what he must have been going through. He knew how bad this was going to be. To know that you're condemning your own people to death…I couldn't really fathom it. I hesitated, unsure of what to say. "Wh-Why're you telling me this, Alfred?"

His shoulders shrugged and he said nothing.

"America," I sighed. For some reason, I could only think of one primary motivation. "If you're looking for some stamp of approval, you've come to the wrong person."

His head shot up at my blunt tone. I couldn't coddle him or act as if he were a mere nineteen year old boy—some student of mine in his freshman or sophomore year of college. He was a lot older than me and had experienced a lot more as well. The man before me had battled throughout his years. He had endured rebellions and Civil Wars. He was going to become even greater than he already was. Still, there was a flicker of self-doubt there.

A childlike insecurity.

"My opinion of your actions doesn't matter. Neither does anyone else's. The only opinion that matters is your own. You should act on your own beliefs and your own merit. You know how. You've done it before. And you'll do it time and time again."

He stared at me for a few moments before laughing, "You remind me of someone."

My brows rose, surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation.

"Yeah, I miss that old bastard! He was a jackass sometimes, but you talk sorta like him. Tom. What a card!" At my confused look, he snorted. "Thomas Jefferson. You've heard a thing or two about him, right?"

"A thing or two," I nodded. Disbelief shot through me. "I remind you of _Thomas Jefferson_?"

"I didn't mean that you remind me of him _a lot_ or anything. He just said something similar when I was deciding whether or not I wanted to get independence from Britain. He said that I had to make the decision for myself. He said that no one else was going to make it for me. Besides, you talk like him, too, with all your fancy language." He shifted and glanced out at the black night outside. It seemed like there were stars lingering there from the glittering of the raindrops on the glass. "I know it's somethin' _I_ gotta decide on, but I just wanted to talk about it first."

Something more needed to be said, I could feel it. Sometimes, that sense just comes over you. You know that there's something that has to be said, no matter what. "You're my friend, Alfred. Closer to family, honestly. Maybe the only family I have now." He turned to me and I smiled just a little bit at his surprise. It was the first true time I had ever said as much to his face. "I'll be behind you regardless of your choice. And I'm always here if you need to talk."

"Because I'm your friend and not your Nation?" America looked utterly dumbfounded, as if the idea were impossible. Was it so unusual for the Nations to be treated as humans?

"You're both, I think. That's who you are. I'm not friends with you _because_ you're my nation. I'm friends with you because you're a good man… and you happen to be a Nation. My Nation. You're the embodiment of home, Alfred. Even if I can't go back to my world, at least I have some version of home nearby—be it your or the land from which you came. So, yeah. Because you're my friend, my Nation, my home, and my family…I'll be here." I focused on something else while Alfred drew a hand under his eyes. I didn't mean to make him tear up. Really, I didn't quite understand why the concept was so emotional. Hadn't he had friends before? Sighing, I shook my head and tried to fend off my own sentimental tears. "Al, what do you want me to call you?"

"Huh?"

"I know there's a difference between the names. Egypt told me. He prefers to be called Egypt, because that means I know his true nature. What do you want me to call you?" I turned back and saw Alfred's stunned expression had returned, mouth hanging open. I was just catching him off-guard repeatedly tonight. Amusement bubbled in my chest and I nearly laughed. "Is-Is there a difference for you?"

He shifted and glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "America. Call me America. Humans don't get to call me that as much, but it's totally cool if you do it." I nodded, noting that it was strange that Alfred would want to be called America while Canada chose to be called Matthew. I filed it away to examine another day. "Shell," he caught my attention again. "Everything's gonna be okay, right? In the end."

"I hope so," I murmured. "I really hope so."

What more could I say to him? I didn't _know_. I couldn't fathom the changes that would ripple out from here. I could only hope and pray that things would right themselves. I could only hope that the timeline had not been irreparably changed. It was all I could do to keep myself from a complete breakdown. My entire life had been built around knowing—knowing facts, having knowledge. My existence in his world had been determined by it. And, with the changes occurring in the timeline, I no longer knew anything. Every fact I once remembered about the Second World War was called into question.

My fault.

Sighing, I gripped the bed sheet and bade America goodnight as he moved out of my room, into the dimly lit hallway. For a few long moments, I stared at the closed door. My heart was beating faster and faster as I contemplated his question, his innocent question.

_Everything's gonna be okay, right?_

Glancing down to my hands, I could see the same image that haunted me earlier in the day. It was another terrifying realization that I came to on that dark September night. Egypt had fallen. The Pacific Theatre was due to explode soon, though there was no telling when that would occur. It was only a matter of time though. Yeah, a matter of time.

The realization was chilling and sent a tremor through my body.

_I don't know._

** Footnotes: **

(1) Basically, at first Canada had conscription, but the Canadian soldiers could remain in Canada for homeland security. The English-Canadians called this cowardly and lobbied against it. It wasn't until later in the war that conscripted Canadians were sent overseas, of these only 63 died.

(2) Best approximation of a message sent across SIGBA. This actually existed and the coding was never broken. One existed between Churchill and Roosevelt to coordinate meetings and military movements. I thought it would only make sense that Britain and America had one. Now, in my research, I realized that there was no transatlantic phone system until the 1950s. So, I revised that portion of an earlier chapter. Historical accuracy.


	19. Cowardice

_Honest disagreement is often a good sign of progress_. - Mahatma Ghandi

Straightening the khaki shirt, I glanced over to the mirror and sighed. A week had passed since the fall of Egypt. It was now the beginning of October and the weather was growing colder and colder. The rain continued to fall and fall and fall. I had always thought that the rumored rain of Britain was just a stereotype of the country's weather. No, it seemed rainfall was very characteristic of the region. Sometimes it would stop, but the sun would never break through the cloud bank.

Britain had just returned from a mission, eyes gaunt and skin pale. I knew what his mission had been: the bombings of Berlin, the Ruhr, and Champagne. October 7, 1941. He had flown into the very heart of Germany, to strike the Nation where it hurt—his capital. There were no crude jokes to be made about it. The bombing of Berlin meant that there were innocent lives taken among the crumbling buildings and raging fires that burned for days.

It was revenge, in the most blatant sense. The aftermath of the bombings was enough to make America and Canada cringe. Arthur was violently upset, angry that he had to tear apart what used to be a beautiful city. And the civilians that were killed did not help his mentality.

For their losses, Britain blamed himself.

His hate for Germany was growing, as it would continue to do over the next four years. Eventually, there would be such a dislike for Germans that it would carry in the British consciousness for decades to come. A flash of a memory came forward in my mind. Crowds booing for a German contestant on Britain's Got Talent. Yes, that anger wouldn't fade for some time yet.

I sighed, pulling the former hijab around my neck as a scarf. I no longer bothered to cover my hair as I never left the cottage or the annex. Instead, I kept the scarf around my neck as a show of loyalty to one of my dearest friends. Egypt. My heart still ached for him.

He knew.

He knew that his government was going to surrender.

That was a fact that I just couldn't get over.

That was why he had me and the King leave so quickly. The sheer reality of it was hard to bear with, but bear it was what I did. I never allowed myself to cry after that first day. I kept my composure around the Nations, unwilling to show even a _flicker_ of weakness. Perhaps it was arrogance that fueled that desire—the desire to remain strong. As if I wanted to prove that what happened to me—the imprisonment—hadn't ruined me. That I came out the stronger for it, even as I appeared weak and scarred. Not only that, I felt _needed_ in some strange capacity. And it was all because of New York's response. Always New York.

There was a light rapping on the door to the study. I had holed myself among the dusty books for two days, reading quietly to myself in the dimness of the room. The one lamp didn't provide much light, so I was positioned almost directly beneath it, legs drawn up into the green leather chair beneath me. It was comforting, that study room. It reminded me of the old library I used to frequent at the University of Tennessee. Back then, I would barricade myself into the study room for hours. The smell of old books would always permeate the air around me. And the smell was similar. Yeah, the study reminded me of home. Looking up from my book, I saw Canada leaning through the door with a small smile. His thick jacket was one, leaving only a white button-down shirt.

"You're back," I grinned and closed my Arabic book. "I'm glad you're safe. How did the operation go?"

"Well enough," Matthew opened the door further and stepped inside. "We lost eighty-seven, but they backed off." He sighed and moved to settle himself on the edge of the desk. The bear, I noticed, was nowhere in sight. "I don't…I don't think that we'll recapture Egypt any time soon. Not until Australia brings in more forces. He will…It just might take a little while longer. Germany has U-boats everywhere."

Oh, so that was what the battle was about. I hadn't known when Britain and Canada had rushed off in the middle of the night for God knows where. America had been just as confused as me when they left, citing how tired he was before going back to sleep. I, however, had remained awake for the rest of the night, trying to figure out where they could have been heading.

The skirmish had been called the "Battle of Fort Capuzzo."

It was chilling.

Fort Capuzzo had fallen to British forces before Rommel had forced the British out again in April of 1941. Keyword: had. That was how it had been before history changed. Though it seemed Britain was able to take the majority of Italian-controlled Libya, Egypt had fallen instead. It was showing me exactly how arrogant I was to think I could _control_ the butterfly effect. The world was paying for my mistake, my egoism.

"I have something for you," Matthew murmured. His hand reached into his jacket pocket and he withdrew a slip of paper. "I thought you might want to see it."

Taking the small slip of paper from his hand, I pulled it back into the brighter light under the lamp. The letters were a nicely done script, with light strokes. The cursive letters were completely upright and tightly written. To me, having seen tons of handwriting samples (from my students), it looked very much how I expected Canada's handwriting to look. Quietly confident.

_Shell, I'm glad you're safe. Thank God. You had me worried, trouble-maker. George was worried, too. He is fine, by the way. I know you were probably worried sick. I miss you, doll face. Miss you so much. Keep out of trouble. Look out for Alfred while you're over there, okay? Love you, too. Stay safe. Come home soon. Or I'll come to you._

"He cares about you a lot," Matthew commented quietly. "It's nice."

Humming my agreement, I placed the slip of paper in the folds of my journal. It sat amongst other scraps of paper and notes that I had written. "Johnny took care of me when I didn't have anyone else. That whole family did. Alfred included." Looking to the Nation, I smiled a little. "I owe them a lot." Gesturing toward the open chair, I continued to smile as he nodded and took the seat. My eyes lowered back to the book of Arabic language and I observed out of the corner of my eye as Canada chose a book of poetry from the shelf and began silently perusing the pages.

"I like moments like this. When it's quiet and calm. Moments like this don't come around much anymore."

After he sighed, I spoke up: "Take a rest for now, Matthew. You've fought hard." A few minutes later, the only sound other that the turning of the pages was a soft snore from the chair next to me. It was with this that I had done something to help, if only to get a Nation to rest for a short fifteen minute nap. At least it was something.

"Hey, Shelly."

I turned to see America standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn't slept in days. He likely hadn't. Nations seemed to have an abnormal capacity for exhaustion. Still, he was human (to a degree). He was going to crash sometime. I just prayed it wasn't during the meeting. Alfred was running himself ragged trying to operate between Britain's house and his consulate. I wondered why he wasn't returning to his lands, but I never found the motivation to ask. It was his business anyway.

"You look pretty today." It was just his way of buttering me up, so I didn't pay him any mind. He was about to tell me something he thought I wouldn't like. He never gave me compliments like that unless something bad followed soon after. "So, uh, the Commie bastard is gonna be here in an hour. Just thought you should know."

"C-Commie bastard?" I felt my jaw drop. That was a little anachronistic, wasn't it? America really didn't start hating on the Communist party until after the war. During the war, they had a working relationship—especially with America's Lend-Lease Program, which supplied the cold nation with supplies and weapons. And billions of dollars in funding. "You mean _Russia_?"

"Yeah whatever. Him. He's gonna be here soon. Didn't want you anywhere near that creep, so I'm officially your bodyguard today."

"I don't need a babysitter, America."

He smiled broadly and meandered into my room, falling unceremoniously onto my mattress as I tried to get my hair to cooperate. In the back of my mind, I felt a little irritated that he had just messed up my already-made bed. The thought was so juvenile that I just let it go. "'Kay then, Shells! I won't be your babysitter. I'll just be your date for the day. Problem solved."

"I thought you were old enough to be my grandpa. Which is it? You're my date or you're my gramps. Make up your mind, America."

He let out a peal of laughter, curling onto his side. "HAHA! Oh, Shelly! You're killin' me, darlin'! Sorry, don't see ya that way Michelle. I meant your protective guard dog date that'll punch the lights out of any psycho Commie bastard that comes within five feet of ya. That kind of date." America made a show of folding his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. "If he so much as _looks_ at you the wrong way, I swear I'll—"

"You're pulling the protective big brother routine," I muttered under my breath. He caught it though and his eyes opened. I looked at him in the mirror, shifting my weight to my good foot. "Do you do this with all your citizens or am I just lucky? Is some oversight committee in the government gaining control or something?"

He didn't joke back. Instead, he nodded his head and in all seriousness said, "You're lucky. You're the first human in a long time that I've actually gotten attached to. No government involved." When I turned to face him, his eyes closed again and I made my way across the space to sit on the edge of the bed. "When you get as old as I am, Michelle, you learn not to grow attached to things. Pets, places, people…You kinda have to learn that you're always gonna be on the outside of all that."

We were having another one of those moments, I realized immediately. America was letting down his walls and was letting me see his innermost workings. Something I doubted that many alive could say. I shifted on the bed and wondered why he was suddenly confiding so much in me. Gently, I reached out and took his hand. A memory flashed in my mind of a similar action, save for the fact that it was Egypt who had held my hand those months ago. When I tried to pull my hand away again, America already had it in his grip. I relented and held his hand in return.

"Dolley was my best friend, you know. She was _so cool_. I mean, I didn't love her. Not like France loved Jeanne. I mean, I've only heard stories, but…What me and Dolley had, it was one of the greatest friendships anyone could ask for." I struggled to hold my composure as he spoke. The way he spoke of her was so…heavy. I tilted my head back in an effort to keep my tears at bay. "I actually set her up with Jimmy, even though I know Aaron took the credit for that one. He always did. That man was an attention whore!" My mind worked in overdrive, trying to piece together exactly _who_ he was talking about.

Aaron. Jimmy. James, maybe? Dolley.

Aaron Burr. James Madison.

Dolley Madison, the First Lady of the United States.

America opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "She was awesome, Shelly. Like really, always knew what to say. Always made the best pies. Always had room for me whenever I stopped by. It's terrifying to watch people you've known your whole life wither away like she did. She was so…bright when she was younger. We used to play pranks on James. Aaron always used to laugh like a loon at her jokes. Then, she just…faded. Up until that point, I never really grasped how bad it was gonna get, you know? All the other guys, they're older than me. France warned me, but he said that I could never be wrong if I loved my citizens. That if I just loved them enough, then I could cope with the pain." He turned his shining eyes to me. "Sorry, Shelly. Droppin' all this on ya like that."

"N-No, it's okay. You needed to get it out. You shouldn't keep stuff like that to yourself." I glanced away, toward the door. There was a slip of fabric visible on the right hand side of the doorway. My lips pursed and I glanced toward America again, to make sure he didn't catch Britain standing outside. A moment of weakness like that was probably meant to be private. "You alright?"

"Huh? Yeah. 'Course I am! I'm the hero!"

I smiled slightly and patted his hand. "Yeah, you're the hero." I started to stand up again only to find my hand gripped in his.

"Michelle, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you."

What brought that on so suddenly? I tried to pull my hand again, but he remained still. "Americ—"

He sat up hurriedly. "No! Michelle, you could've _died_! I could've lost you like—"

"You _didn't_ lose me. I'm right here. Death was a very real possibility, America. I won't deny that. Still, wallowing in self-pity is _the last thing_ you need to be doing right now. If you want to be a hero, then _be_ one. You told me when we first met that a hero was someone who overcame their own obstacles. Well then, start overcoming, America. Not that I don't appreciate you speaking to me like this. I'm glad you trust me, but…" I trailed off and watched him stare up at me with wide eyes. "Sorry."

"You always this confident, Shelly?"

I smirked at the reference, "Always. Sometimes I even walk around with a bunch of feathers in my hat." Letting go of his hand, I moved toward the door and grabbed my cane. Mostly I just wanted to see if Britain was still eavesdropping.

He was, but he caught the sound of my shoes on the hardwoods and shifted his position so that he 'couldn't be seen.'

Smiling slightly to myself, I decided to have a little fun. The man really should have known better therefore some fun on his dime wouldn't be so bad. And fun was in short supply lately. "Um, well, America…So, what's that stuff that Arthur's been feeding us?"

America laughed and shrugged, completely oblivious. "Dunno. He said it was stew, but I thought I saw an eye in it last night." He snorted, "Bet it was eye of newt!"

"If he's been feeding us haggis, I'll force French fries down his throat."

There was an offended squawk that was seconds later made to sound like the call of some wild bird. America shot me a confused look, glancing at the window as if some magical raven were tapping on the glass there. I stifled a bark of laughter and began putting the finishing touches on getting ready for the day. Britain's method of hiding his indignation was too much like a scene in Much Ado About Nothing. He was mirroring one of his own citizens and didn't even know it.

This was insanity.

"America, want to hear a secret about the show you all were in?"

He shot upward in bed and nodded his head vigorously. "YEAH! It's been killin' me not to ask, but Britain was being annoying about 'not asking'! Said we didn't need to know about some stupid show in another crazy world."

"The show had a lot of running gags. It was a comedy, you know." America nodded eagerly, hanging on my every word. I smiled slightly and turned to face him, leaning against the sink. My voice lowered a bit and I crossed my arms. "One was about Britain's cooking." My gaze flickered toward the door and there was silence for a beat.

Then all hell broke loose.

"AHAHAHAHA!" America's obnoxious laughter echoed throughout the whole house. They could probably hear it in London for how loud it was. He dramatically rolled off the bed and continued to laugh on the floor, curled into a fetal position. That, in and of itself, was funny. It was always amusing to see someone else lose their shit over something or other. Seeing America so entertained was giving me entertainment in turn.

At the same time, a very angry Arthur charged into the room. His eyes were alight with wrath. Without a single moment of hesitance, he stalked across the room and stomped both feet on the floor before mirroring my crossed arms. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed to keep from giving in and laughing with America. The indignant look on the Brit's face was simply priceless and it had been _too long_ since I felt this much…joy.

"You—You—Argh! I have good cooking! There are fish and potatoes and I make sure to use everything I can. Waste not, want not. It's not my fault that all you bloody fools have no taste! Besides, I dealt in the spice trade! I _was_ the spice trade! How could my food have no taste! That makes no bloody sense and you—"

" _I_ never said your cooking was bad," I reminded him.

He sputtered to a stop. Then, a smug expression crossed his face. "No, no. Of course not. That's because my food is the b—"

"Bangers and mash."

"What—"

"Bubbles and squeak."

"What—"

"Haggis!"

Giving in, I burst into laughter. It was all too much fun. What self-respecting history buff doesn't know quotes from National Treasure? Rephrase: it was just too good of an opportunity to throw in a reference I knew that Arthur would never get. Besides, I knew that movie like the back of my hand. His expression was hilarious as well. His mouth was a gaping hole while his eyes were wide with incredulity. With both me and America now laughing, Arthur looked at a loss for what to do. I was laughing so hard that I could barely catch my breath and I sank down to the floor, holding my stomach. I even slapped my hand against my leg, something that I hadn't done in over a year.

"Oh _yes_ , let's all take the mickey at the expense of the gentleman. Why not?"

America guffawed from his place on the floor. "You mad, bro?"

"You're the one who's mad!"

I brushed the tears from my eyes and eased myself up from the floor. A few laughs continued to erupt from me, from somewhere deep within. Britain turned to glare at me, but it was half-hearted. Some part of him enjoyed seeing us loose composure like that. It was a relief in a house drenched in seriousness and rain. He muttered something under his breath before turning on his heel and marching for the door.

"Ivan will be here any minute. _Do_ try to control yourselves."

That sobered America up right quick. Arthur knew exactly what buttons to push to get America to collect himself. I also was able to gather myself after that. Britain left, still grumbling under his breath about 'stupid fools.' Alfred gave one final laugh before picking himself off the floor. "That was a blast, right? Always love to laugh like that! Anyway, I'll be downstairs. Come down when you're ready."

"Is Matthew down there already?"

"Who?" America questioned as he stepped out into the hallway. "Oh! Canadia? Yeah, he's down there eating bacon or something. Maybe moose. Who knows?"

I snorted, shaking my head. I couldn't tell if Alfred was just joking around or if he really didn't know who I was talking about. Probably the former rather than the latter. Most of the time he pretended not to notice Matthew to get a rise out of his poor brother. Sighing, I brushed a hand over my dress and looked into the mirror.

It was as good as it was going to get.

This day, I would meet two more Nations. Not exactly the rest of the Allies, but certainly the rest of the main cast from _Hetalia._ Russia and China were coming for a meeting. Though I didn't know the specifics, I did know that Ivan was pressed for time. He was due back in Moscow within a few days. I knew that both were not doing so well. Russia was under siege by Germany and his allies while China was still dealing with Japan's attacks.

I grabbed my cane on the way out and made my way downstairs. My speed wasn't at all inhibited by my limp anymore and it had become just another average thing. As all things did with time. It no longer bothered America as much either. Though sometimes I would catch either him or Arthur staring at the limb as if it were Germany himself.

"Hello," a voice stated as soon as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

Stopping on the third step, I glanced over to where a very tall man was lurking in the entry way. He still had his huge overcoat on and there was rain evident in his hair. It seemed that Russia had just arrived. My gaze skittered back to the Nation.

He was about the size of my great uncle. Staggeringly tall and big boned. He had to be at least six feet, maybe a few inches over. My heart nearly stopped. This was Russia. _Russia_. Aside from America and Britain, I knew his history the best. Frankly, it was a little stunning to see him in person. He was very majestic, in my opinion. The way he held himself was as if he were a part of the royal family, confident and solid. Then, I realized that I was being rude and I moved down the remaining stairs. "Hello there." I walked forward and gestured toward the coat closet. "Would you like me to take your coat?"

"You are girl that came from the future?"

Freezing, I looked up at him. There was no sense in denying it, not when he had gotten straight to the point like that. "I am."

A serene smile came over his face and he nodded. "Well, it is nice to meeting you. I am Ivan."

"Michelle," I responded. My arm lowered and I understood that he wasn't going to give me his coat. Taking a few steps back, I allowed him out of the entryway. He stepped further into the well-lit hallway and I nearly gasped.

His eyes truly were violet. I had thought for sure that the unnatural colors were merely exaggerations from the reality of this world. That had been the case with Austria's eye color. Why were Ivan's eyes so different? Coughing, I continued to move back. My limp was a bit more pronounced as a moved away, not quite used to moving backward rather than forward. He gestured toward my leg with his own cane, brows pulling together in confusion. "You were injured?"

"I'm healed."

"Ah," he nodded. "Okay."

Of all the Nations to have an awkward meeting with, Russia was actually the one I expected to go fairly smoothly. He was pleasant enough and (barring his occasional psychotic tendencies) could remain cordial, even knowing my knowledge. He had practice in dealing with Britain's summoning spells, too. Though that had been calling for evil. A chill ran up my spine. I was taking this too lightly. Far too lightly. Still, I refused to be rude to someone I had just met. Nation or no.

Russia was watching me with a smile. It was a little unnerving, but pleasant enough. He nodded as if he had come to some decision. I shuddered a bit at what it could be. "I've decided. I like you."

Struck dumb by that sudden declaration, I sought to clarify what in the world he could mean by that. People don't just decide things and announce them with such certainty. "What—Why? Where did that come from?"

"You are not running from me. You are afraid, but you are not doing the running." His smile became broader. "Normally, when people are scared, they run. From me. You are not." With that clarification, he started forward and came up to stand in front of me. "A proper introduction. _Zdravstvujte_ , I am Ivan Braginsky."

Good idea: getting on Russia's good side.

Bad idea: _not_ getting on Russia's good side.

Holding out my hand, I smiled up at him. Even though I was a little unnerved, I had encountered much worse things than greeting a Nation. "I'll admit that y-you're intimidating."

" _Da_." He looked somewhat amused by my explanation of fear and reached forward to take my hand in return. Instead of shaking it though, he raised it to his lips and pressed his lips to the dry skin of my knuckles. The action took me completely by surprise. "You are honest."

"Blunt is more like it," I responded in kind. The kiss on the knuckles was likely a way of greeting someone in Russia, so I thought nothing of it beyond surprise. "Michelle Daniels. I'm curious. Is this kissing of the hand a cultural thing?"

His head nodded and he smiled widely, releasing his firm grip on my fingers. "It is. I figured this would be better than to kiss your cheek with America coming to the rescue." He said it so easily that I almost didn't catch what he said until I heard the shout over my shoulder.

"Michelle!"

Out of nowhere, America was there. His entire body was placed in front of mine, angling so that I couldn't see the larger Nation. Which was extremely awkward considering how small the hallway was. He had somehow positioned himself completely between Ivan and me, puffing up his chest as a way to intimidate the Russian away. My eyes rolled in exasperation and I leaned around the hideously overprotective America. Russia merely smiled down at Alfred from his immense height, calmly accepting the younger Nation's ire.

There was an almost patronizing lilt to his accented voice. "Hello, Comrade Alfred. How are you today?"

"Hello yourself."

I grabbed America's bomber jacket sleeve and pulled him back. The last thing we needed was more tension—more international strife. Despite what Alfred liked to believe, Russia's power was necessary in the coming battles. It was essential, in fact. Pissing the giant Nation off was not the best course of action. "America, please. He was just being polite. Don't be a jerk." I saw Ivan twitch at my use of Alfred's secret identity. I ignored it for the time-being.

"Shell—"

"Don't be a jerk," I gave him a quelling look.

"Michelle—"

"Don't be a jerk," I said again. My halting glare grew more intense. It was one that I often sent my students if they were texting during one of my lectures (whenever I actually decided to confront them on the issue). Looking back, I could barely see myself in that situation anymore. "He's your _ally_. Act like it. Starting in on this…It's not the best time. For now, he's your ally."

Alfred snorted, "He's my _backup_."

"Semantics. Yes, backup. Whatever." I waved him off. Glancing back toward Russia, I noticed that he was watching me with a small smile on his round face. Clearly, I had done something to gain his attention and amusement. "Sorry about him. He's a little stressed at the moment."

"Stressed?" America practically shouted. I winced, sending him another glare. Why was he being so dramatic today? "I'm not stressed! Big guy is already makin' eyes at you and it's pissin' me off!" He turned on his heel and strode right up to stand in front of Ivan again. "Look, pal. See that girl? That girl right there? That's my citizen, dude. She's important to me. Don't try any funny stuff, got it? Don't get any weird ideas. And _don't_ come near her. You got that?"

Russia smiled pleasantly and nodded, "I got it. No going near. No funny idea. Got it."

Appeased, America puffed up and backed away. I gave him a swat on the shoulder before turning on my heel and walking away. His whine was humorous and I withheld a laugh. "You can do that with the States. Not with me."

"Comrade Michelle knows about the Nations?"

We continued moving down the hallway toward the annex. Russia was following along behind. I turned and gave him a slight shrug while America explained.

"Chyeah, she knows. Dropped that bomb on us a few weeks ago. Hey, Russia, did you know we're fictional?"

"What?" was Ivan's confused reply. "Fictional?"

It was time for me to intercede before this got out of hand. "You're not fictional per se. Not in theory at least. America's being dramatic. In my world—I come from another world, by the way—your world is a fictional story. Like a book or novel. That being said, in this world you are very much real. The values changed, I guess. It could be that my world is a story here. I've never thought to look for the literature that might support that theory. Anyway, it is nothing that you should worry about. I mean, the biggest issue seems to be who had the bigger fan base, not the physics or theory behind the whole exchange." I made a thoughtful tone at the back of my throat when America began to laugh. Snapping out of my contemplation, I noticed that Russia had stopped walking. America was holding his sides, bent over a few steps back. "What's going on?"

"Does she…talk like this all the time?"

"Most of the time," America chuckled. "Yeah. Shelly's a smart cookie, huh? The only one who can keep up with her is Britain. And they're pissy with each other."

"Correction: _she_ is irritable with _me_. Though I cannot say why…"

I turned on my heel and crossed my arms. Britain stood down the hall, leaning in the doorway of the meeting room. He had a smirk plastered across his face. "I'm not _irritable_ with you." He snorted and shook his head. "If this is about us not being friends—"

"Which is the biggest load of bullocks I've ever heard."

"You're not friends?" America questioned.

Ignoring him, I glared at Arthur. He looked far too smug for my tastes. "—you're really terrible about holding grudges."

"So are you!" He paused and then grinned, "You speak poniards and every word stabs. If your breath were as terrible as your termination, there would be no living near you!"

My eyes narrowed and I tried to contain my amusement. I kept my face straight and stalked forward. He had underestimated me. I hated when someone did that. And Britain did it more than anyone else. Underestimating my strength. My loyalty. And now, my knowledge. When I arrived in front of him, he didn't look at all concerned. He looked arrogant. 'Predisposed to being kind-of a twat,' indeed. There was no 'kind-of' about it.

"Would I infect to the North Star?"

His mouth opened.

"Does all disquiet, horror, and perturbation follow me?" Feeling haughty myself, I rolled back onto my good foot and gave him a good-humored smile. Arthur looked positively shell-shocked. "You really shouldn't assume things. It's gotten you into a lot of trouble in the past." I glanced back and noticed America's confused expression. Feeling the need to explain, I shrugged. "He used a quote from one of Shakespeare's plays, _Much Ado About Nothing_. I recognized it and used the next line. He didn't think I would know."

"Who _would_ know?" America wondered. "Shelly, really, _who_ would know that?"

"Me," I responded. "And anyone who took English 2135 with Dr. Lancaster at Ole Miss." Turning back to Arthur, I caught sight of his still-stunned expression. Feeling a little guilty, I decided to take the mature route and apologize for my snark. "Sorry, I keep giving you a hard time today." Britain stared at me as if I had grown another head.

"What are you apologizing for, Shell?" I shrugged to America. "Whatevs. Can we get this show on the road already? Yo, Russia! Where's China?"

"He will be here shortly," Russia gestured toward the meeting room. "Perhaps we can go sit down, yes?"

I stepped back and allowed them to pass me before turning to head back to the main house. They really didn't need me there and there hadn't been any words said about my attendance. Instead, I thought that maybe I could study a bit more Arabic for the afternoon. Egypt had given me those books, but I had never really _studied_ them for comprehension. Most of my time on the ship was spent reading the holy books he had supplied and perusing the ship's library.

Just as I reached the end of the hall, someone called my name. Britain jogged up to stand a few feet away. "Where in Heaven's name are you going?"

"My room or the study," I answered. It seemed fairly obvious.

"No, you're staying for the meeting. We need information."

Tension swept up my back and I felt my posture growing straighter. It was likely the tallest I had stood since my time in Austria. Once again, my worth was reduced down to my knowledge. "You have the information I provided in the letter. And you have already made use of it. There's nothing more I can give right now."

"Which letter?"

"Which letter?"

"Yes, what letter are you referring to?"

"What letter? What letter?" Anger flooded through me. I quirked my head to the side, not feeling up to Britain's antics. "The letter with the godforsaken list that spared your forces in Libya and then ultimately cost Egypt his freedom. The letter that got Russia to evacuate Leningrad. If a short list like _that_ can change so much, then I'm honestly scared to see what an even longer one can do. Much less a presentation in a half-world meeting!" This was a topic I had been avoiding for the past few days, since Egypt's…Since he— "Nothing else, Britain. I'm not giving anything else. Not until the new year. Let's just make it through 1941 first." Shaking my head, I went to leave. Britain appeared utterly confounded and stunned at my vehemence.

That's when I heard it.

"You're a coward."

I went still.

Of all the things to call me.

Of all the things he could have said.

_Coward_.

You're a coward.

I'm a coward.

_I know._

That one statement hurt far worse than hunger ever could. Than the hurt of loneliness could. Than the darkness of a cellar or the ache of an infected bone. A sick feeling entered my throat and I tried to keep the heat from entering my eyes. My head lowered for a few scant seconds before I thought better of it. No, lowering my head was what I would have done in the past. I wasn't the same woman any longer. So, I raised my chin and fought off the pain of his insult. I looked him dead in the eye and forced myself not to flinch at the anger that flashed there.

"And _you're_ a fool, Britain."

I stared at him for a moment longer before turning again.

As I made my way down the hall, I didn't look back.


	20. Butterfly

_It can never be doubted that the goods will be delivered by this Nation, whose Navy believes in the traditions of "Damn the torpedoes; full speed ahead!"_

_–_ Franklin Delano Roosevelt, October 1941

They didn't quite trust him. None of them did, not completely anyway. I wondered for a long while how frustrating that had to be: to be in constant pain from fighting in this war, to know that your people were dying terrible deaths at every minute, and yet, to know that your aide would _never_ be trusted. It must have been lonely, to battle like that. Though he had many Nations around him—almost none of them wanted to _trust_ him. No belief of faith. They just had no choice in the matter. No choice. There was never any choice. Between the Nazi regime and the Soviet Union, Nations such as Estonia and Latvia were used as political bargaining chips.

Chess pieces on the western block.

My gaze lifted from my book as I looked over toward where Ivan was standing. His hands were clasped behind his back in a very militaristic stance. At ease.

The meeting had been postponed at eleven in the morning. It was already two in the afternoon when Ivan came into the study. China had encountered an issue in leaving his homeland. With Japan's near-constant attacks, it was difficult for the old Nation for find time for an Allied meeting.

He looked majestic, like I had seen other Nations look from time to time. America sometimes held that look. So did Germany and Italy. Britain. A wise look of ages, that's what Russia held as he stared out of the window. I wondered what memory he was recalling. From the dark shade in his expression, it likely wasn't a pleasant recollection.

"It rains here," he stated after a long while. "Too much."

Flipping my journal shut, I turned to his back and smiled slightly. "Would you rather it were snowing or maybe ice?"

"No, snow is…I get tired of the snow."

Some sun seemed to peek through the window and I realized that the rain was actually ending. He looked at the light in wonder, blinking rapidly to adjust. "Well, you might get to see some sun yet, Ivan. It's finally gonna stop. It's been raining for days." Standing from my chair, I walked over to the bookshelf and replaced my most recent read, _Alice in Wonderland_. My eyes glanced over toward where _War and Peace_ sat at the edge of Arthur's desk. It was my copy and it seemed Britain had been pouring over my marginal notes for any hints. "Any idea what America and Britain are doing right now?"

"No idea," he smiled over at me. The grin didn't reach his eyes. I might've felt a shiver down my spine, but I didn't acknowledge it. There was a tense sort of anger in his eyes that could freeze anyone in their tracks. Was that aimed at me? No, I realized. Instead, I felt that it was perhaps aimed toward another and I was merely a place-holder. Perhaps Germany or someone else. Hungary was likely getting a bit competitive by this point as well. It could have been any of them. "I do not believe you to be a coward, Comrade Michelle."

Stunned, I stopped myself from removing another book from the shelf and I turned to look at him in surprise. "Huh?"

He shrugged and began walking toward the door. "Ah, it seems China has arrived."

How did he—

"YO, CHINA! 'BOUT TIME YOU SHOWED UP!" America's shout echoed throughout the house, rattling the tea cup that sat on the desk. I shot Russia a curious look, but he already had his back to me as he exited the room. My head shook in wonder, yet I didn't question it. Maybe it was best not to question Russia.

Well, China didn't like me. China didn't trust me. China wanted me gone. I came to these three conclusions as soon as I had the distinct pleasure of meeting the Asian Nation. The expression of complete disgust on his face was absolutely dumbfounding. I couldn't quite process it. No one had ever hated me without even meeting me before. Sure some had come to loathe me over the years. Petty high school feuds, some random family members, students. Lots of students. None had ever given me such a look of contempt upon first meeting though. His lips were drawn into a sneer and his slanted eyes were narrowed in accusation.

Carefully, I bowed in his direction and made eye contact. I had learned the latter from an international student once. He told me that eye contact was extremely important in his culture and that it varied depending on rank and age. With Wang Yao at around five thousand years old, I quickly diverted my eyes elsewhere.

"We should get rid of her, soon."

I stiffened, but didn't speak. America was more than happy to do so for me. "What was that, China? Get rid of who? Shelly? Nah, man! Shelly's cool."

"She's a risk. An unnecessary risk."

Although I was shocked at his bluntness, I couldn't help but to see the efficient truth in his words. I was a risk, embodied. Almost like they were the representation of the world nations, I was risk in human form.

"Woah, Shelly's helpin' us! She's trying to help us win the war."

"I don't think that Egypt or Syria—" Syria? I pulled my brows together and looked to America. He was staring away from me. My stomach dropped. It couldn't be that Syria had fallen, too! "—ppreciate that kind of thinking."

"Wait," I interrupted. China shot me a glare, but I was hardly concerned about his apparent dislike. I turned to America. "What's this about Syria?"

He grimaced, looking pleadingly toward Arthur. Britain, in turn, held up both hands showing that he was not going to deliver the news this time. Desperation was starting to well up in my chest and I tried to keep a handle on it. After a moment, Alfred sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Uh, look...There's no easy way to say it, but—"

"Syria is under German rule."

My heart began to thunder in my ears as my eyes blinked away a sudden bought of dryness. "W-What? That—That can't be right." I looked to Britain. "You pushed out the French Vichy in _July_. You took over. You—"

"No, I didn't. After winning at Halfaya Pass, I went on to free Libya from Axis control." No, that couldn't be right. Libya wasn't won until 1943 while Syria was won in 1941. This was all wrong. "I didn't have any troops to spare in Syria because I focused them on freeing Italian Libya, thus depriving the Axis of some major ports. Though, it would be a good idea to get the Vichy out of there, come to think of it. They're collaborating with the Axis, I know. Perhaps I will direct more of my forces there next after Operation Crusader. See if we might get Syria free…" He shifted and crossed his arms. "Do you see why your help would have been appreciated?"

"My 'help' is what caused this in the first place!" I retorted. So they had kept me in the dark. Again. Did they think I couldn't handle it? That I was weak? My gaze shifted over to America. He was staring rather hard at his shoes. Anger flared up in me, but I was able to keep my voice calm and controlled. "America…You had a lot of opportunities to tell me about this."

Alfred's head rose and he grimaced, "Shelly…"

"No!" I held up a hand and shook my head. My voice lowered. "No. I don't want to hear it. Not right now, Alfred. I really just… don't." Glancing over to where Russia was smiling at the whole exchange, I sent a glare in his direction. My self-preservation instincts had flown out the window with my anger. "Care to voice your thoughts over there, Russia?"

"Why do you not call me Ivan?"

"Because right now, you're a Nation." I answered stiffly. His smile was beginning to falter a bit at my no-nonsense tone. "As my friend—" The big man visibly jerked, but I ignored the action. Britain sent me a drool look. "—you might have a different opinion. As a Nation, what are your thoughts?"

Russia's back straightened and his smile slipped a bit. It was still in place, but it was _obviously_ fake. Fragile. Like he was hiding behind a thin sheet of glass. "I think… that you should go home."

"Chyeah, New York's been waiting to see ya, Shelly!"

"No, you idiot." Britain interrupted. "He meant her world."

Nodding my head in thanks to the giant Nation, I kept myself as professional as possible. Catching Canada's eyes, I saw him nod in support and agreement. Studiously ignoring America and Britain, I looked toward China. He had his arms crossed and his eyes were narrowed dangerously in my direction. Settling back into my chair, I gestured toward him. "Do you have any ideas, Mister Wang? I'm game."

"You're _what?_ " America shouted. I cringed at his volume. "Shelly, you've lived with us for more than a year! You can't—"

Distance. I had to build some distance. It was my safest bet. America was never one for separation. He was a fierce believer in that idea of 'no man left behind.' In this case though, that sort of mentality just wasn't going to work. I _needed_ to go back to my world. It would prove better for everyone.

"China's right. I'm a risk. An unnecessary risk. You really can't argue his logic. The timeline is already screwed up because of me. Frankly, I don't know how to fix it. My presence here is messing up the fabric between worlds. I know it. I've seen it. I've witnessed things that I was never meant to witness. America, I _need_ to go." Sighing at his expression—sheer disbelief and an obvious determination _not to listen_ —I pressed my hands to the table. "Look, I'm grateful for everything you've done."

"But—"

"But it's time. I need to find a way home. No more beating around the bush." Shifting from the chair, I rose to my feet. "And if you won't help me, I'll figure it out on my own." Pushing down my rush of panic, I moved to the chalkboard and wrote down three names.

"Why's Britain's name up there?"

"You have terrible handwriting," Britain intoned from his seat. His arms crossed dramatically over his chest.

Turning on my heel, I gave him a bland look. "Really, Arthur? _Do_ try harder. Your insults are becoming white noise. Frankly, I don't think anything can top the one from this morning." He flinched and looked suitably ashamed. No matter what, he always succeeded in getting a rise out of me. And the wound from his insult the earlier in the day was still smarting. Coward. _Coward._ I wasn't a coward. Maybe I was. "These are the three countries that possess magical abilities, right?"

"Magic don't exist, Shelly!" America shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur. "You've cursed her into believing all that magical pals crap, haven't you?"

"How dare you!"

Looking toward Russia, I saw him grinning happily at the exchange as if he were enjoying the rising tension in the room. China, however, looked impatient with it. His hand slammed down on the table. "We don't have time for this, you know! Get it together already!"

Both Nations paused, glared, and turned back to me. I cleared my throat, shooting them a reprimanding look. Only America looked chastised. Arthur, however, was fuming.

"Britain. Romania. And Finland."

"Hey, I don't like _any_ of those guys," Russia commented airily. "The Romania is pesky with his hurting my sister." Ah yes, the Romanian battles in Ukraine were quite famous for bloodshed. Of course Russia wouldn't like that. Besides, Romania was a belligerent against the Soviet Union. "The Finland is annoying." I _bet_ he didn't want to talk about _that_ one anymore either, considering Finland held his own against Russia in the Winter War. Kicked his ass, more like it. "Yeah…I think they are all bad options."

"What about _me_?" Arthur cried out indignantly.

"Ah, what about you, comrade?"

Britain's arms flew out. "Oh! I don't know! _I have magic, too!_ This seems like a simple enough solution, does it not?"

"Dude, you almost _killed_ her last time you tried. Tap out! You're not an option."

"You're forgetting someone."

I jerked my head around and saw Matthew leaning on the window sill with a half-smile on his face. No one else seemed to hear his voice as I looked back toward the now-arguing Nations. He didn't seem bothered with that fact at the moment. Instead, he pushed off the sill and walked toward me. For a moment, Canada looked extremely confident. His stride wasn't that of some quite nobody. He held an air of calm authority. Gently, he took the chalk from my hand and scrawled a name on the board in his beautiful script.

"Norway?" I questioned, looking to him with confusion.

"He has magical abilities." Matthew set the bit of chalk down on the lip of the blackboard and stepped back. "I met him when I was younger. He actually found me… before France and Britain." Of course! Norwegian sailors were the first Europeans in the region. That made historical sense. But—there would be a problem with this. At my look of understanding, he shifted nervously and gave me a nod.

"Norway's under Germany's command," I murmured.

"Not command," Britain responded and I turned back to him. "Command implies some autonomy. Norway has been occupied." Shooting me a look, he frowned. "Do you know what that means?"

Slightly offended at his condescending tone, I nodded and raised my chin. "It means that he's being held prisoner separate from his lands and people. Like France." Britain recoiled a bit at the venom in my voice. I was really, really getting sick of this. "You need to _stop_ underestimating me, Arthur. It's getting tiresome. You either trust me or you don't. You either want to be a friend or you don't. Stop it with the snarky mood swings already. In case you haven't figured it out, or need a case study in what you're doing wrong, just pay attention to how you speak to me. How you treat me. Then you might understand a bit. Stop condescending to the poor little human. She's smart enough to figure it out on her own. She has—I have a _doctorate_ in the damn subject."

Britain glared at me before sitting down in a huff, looking a little stunned at my vehement defense and statement. Now, everyone knew my expertise. I rolled my eyes and caught sight of China's stunned expression. He was obviously surprised at the apparent animosity between myself and Britain. And the degree of my education. He probably couldn't believe that a woman could hold such a high level of education. He probably expected that we—Britain and I— got along great, too. That we were chums. When he looked back toward me, there was a hint of something—respect, maybe?—in his eyes. "Well, what _shall_ we do then? It's not like we have any solid plan yet. We get magic and sent home. End of story."

"My magic—" Britain started.

" _Your_ magic can't send me home," I stated. The voices of ancients echoed in my mind. "It has to be one of the other three magical Nations."

"Clearly," China snorted. "You're stating the obvious."

"Why someone else when I can do it?"

"Dude, do I need to say it again? Your magic backfired like a sonic boom last time you tried!" Anachronism at its finest, ladies and gentlemen. Even so, none of the Nations questioned America's reference.

I looked back at China, accepting the challenge. "Yes, it is a statement of the obvious problem. Statement of the problem first, then the list of possible solutions." He jerked back, surprised again. "Russia, am I safe to say that Romania is out of the running?"

"Romania will not help without consent of Germany," Ivan replied easily. "Germany's consent is….Ah, not likely."

Sighing, I looked to Canada for any support he could provide. Matthew shrugged his shoulders. "I think that Norway is our best option, eh? He has the most power with magic after Britain and Romania."

"He's behind enemy lines!" America shouted, standing up. "It's pointless. Finland won't help either. He seriously does _not_ like Russia. So he _really, really_ won't help us. I mean, he's got Britain so pissed that he's gonna fire an ultimatum over there any day now!" He turned to me and gave me a rueful smile along with a helpless shrug. "Looks like your SOL, Shelly. Better luck next year. Back to NYC?"

"Next year is not an option." China asserted. "The timeline could become irreparable by that time. If it is not already."

An idea struck me then. My attention turned fully to the Asian Nation. "China, you're over five thousand years old, right? Are you the oldest Nation alive?" He jerked at my question and narrowed his eyes. "I'm just wondering. Why aren't we considering Nations outside of Europe? There has to be someone that has magic powers outside of this continent!" That opened up a whole new realm of possibility. "What about the other Asian Nations? Or African? Middle Eastern? What about South American? Surely someone can send me home."

The room was still and quiet.

"We…don't know them so well."

I turned to America, stunned. That couldn't be right. How could they not know the other world Nations?

Britain shook his head, "Never really cared much to know."

Shock rippled through me. Just absolute and utter shock. That superiority…Glancing at the other Nations, I saw that they all felt pretty much the same. Even America. He shrugged and folded his arms behind his head. What in the world…How could they think such a thing? Before I could get too angry, I closed my eyes and thought it through. I had to remain rational. There had to be a reason why they would just write off the rest of the Nations.

Romania and Bulgaria were Allies—minor powers, but they contributed to the military effort. They had already been occupied by Germany and the Axis. That ruled them out entirely. Alright. That made sense. What about South America?

"Shelly—" I held up a hand and shook my head. "What are you—"

"Thinking. Give me a minute."

"She's going nutters, I'm telling you."

I didn't bother to rise to Britain's bait. I had bigger issues to deal with than his prat-like tendencies.

Brazil was an Ally. Or would be soon. They didn't join the war actively until 1942. Late in 1942, if I recalled correctly. That would put them on the list of possible diplomatic allies. Still, that didn't account for the rest of South America, who probably wanted to stay out of the conflict as much as possible. Mexico wasn't technically South American, but they also declared war on Germany after U-boats attacked Mexican merchant ships and tankers. As far as I knew, though, Mexico didn't have supernatural powers.

Sighing, I moved my attention to Africa. Then, it made sense. Britain's nonchalant attitude toward the other world Nations. He held so many colonies in Africa at the time that it barely seemed possible that he would be unaware of any supernatural powers. Especially if he had a sense for those things. I tensed a bit. So because he had colonies, he wrote them off entirely? Such superiority was starting to fade a bit by the new millennium. And what about Asia?

Asia was a powder keg. China and Japan were so busy beating the hell out of each other that they wouldn't bother to pay attention to any of the other Asian states. Korea was under Japanese rule until 1945. Soon enough the Philippines would be invaded by Japan as well for their connections to America—however brittle. These Nations wouldn't be old enough to have knowledge of how to send me home and I doubted very seriously that they would have the magical abilities. I needed someone old. Someone who might have connections to magic. There was only one name that I could think of from Asia that might possess both.

"Not so easy, is it?" Britain questioned, breaking me out of my thoughts. I opened my eyes and sighed, shaking my head. "Looks like you're stuck."

"Mongolia—"

"He will not help," China cut me off with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe that I would know enough to even suggest the Nation. "I would rather you just _stay_ if _that's_ your only option."

"Still bitter?" I questioned, not bothered at all by the glare he sent me. "He's older than you. And has kicked your ass a few times, too."

"So what?" China sniffed and raised his chin. "He a bastard and I hate him. Just drop Mongolia from the list. He won't do it. End of story. He a magic hack anyway." His arms cross dramatically and he looked every bit the lethal Nation that he was. With that glare directed toward me, I wasn't quite certain why I was so confident. "Other options?"

Silence hung over the group for a few slow moments.

"Egypt," America stated as if it were obvious. He turned to me excitedly. "Egypt can send you home, right? He's older than dirt and he has some sort of magical power."

"You believe _he_ has magic, but _I_ don't?" Britain raged. "What the hell."

"Comrade, I think you forgetting: Egypt is occupied."

"So we break him out. Maybe even Norway while we're at it. It's always good to have a back-up. I would know 'cause every hero needs a backup."

Arthur gawked and I tried to ignore the hope that was budding within me. I really should voice that Egypt couldn't send me home. Not without harming himself. I should have voiced that fact. I didn't though. I…I wanted him to be free. If…If I had to lie to free him, then I would do so. Arthur slammed his hand down on the table and I jumped. "You can't be serious, America! Don't make plans for us. You're not even part of this war. If you'd get up off your lazy arse, then you get to have an opinion. Until then, just shut up!"

"Don't know if you realized, but Shelly's _my_ citizen. Anything that concerns her and her safety, concerns me." America shot me a look. "I may not be part of the war yet, but she is. I get a say in whatever affects her."

"No harm will come to the comrade," Russia commented off-handedly. I looked to him in question to find him looking at me with a small smile on his face. Immediately, I was unnerved. Even I couldn't trust him fully, no matter how much I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. "She is useful and she is nice."

Well, Russia liked me. It made up for Britain being a complete ass and China thinking of me as a bad supernatural omen.

"Why does that seem even worse?" America asked himself, giving me a pained grimace. "As reassuring as I'm sure you think that was, you're a loon if you think I'm just gonna leave Shelly to you freaks. Nope! Not happenin'." I stifled a yawn and shook my head at him, knowing that he was just trying to rile everyone up again. Another round of arguing was going to damage my already fraying nerves. His eyes widened a bit at my tired look and he stood from his chair, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Anyway, it's gettin' late. Maybe we should—"

It came out of nowhere.

When Alfred stopped talking, I thought maybe he had forgotten what he was going to say. Then his eyes got wide and he dropped to the ground as if strings had been cut. I was still for a single moment before I was on the floor next to him, pressing my cold hands to his face. He was gasping for air, looking terrified. "Alfred! Al! America! What's wrong?" For a moment, I thought I saw George—Delaware—staring up at me with wide eyes, but that image disappeared quickly.

The room erupted into chaos. Britain was shouting something, over and over. I really couldn't hear anything. Everything became noise and nonsense. And my vision seemed to tunnel to America's fearful expression.

"Has…Has i-it started?" He gasped, reaching out to take hold of my shirt. He looked so scared and lost, like a child. Exactly like a child. After all, that's all he was in the grand scheme of the Nations. I couldn't take my eyes off him to see what the others were doing in the chaos. No, instead, I kept my eyes on his and grabbed at his hand. My heart thundered in my chest.

It was the most scared I had been since my imprisonment.

Surely, Japan had not attacked yet.

It was still too early, even if Kiku _was_ able to move the attack date up. Too early. This had to be something else. Something else was causing America to—He began coughing violently and I saw some red-tinted spittle fly out. This was something else, something that I couldn't remember or something new. Panic welled in me and my hands began to shake.

"America! America!" Britain sounded so scared that I felt my own fear triple in my chest. Britain rarely showed his fear. It normally took the form of calm acceptance or white hot anger. Not visible fear. He fell to his knees at Alfred's other side.

I had to keep calm. Calm. Everyone else in the room was losing control. I needed to remain _in control_. I had to think and think rationally. I had to take control. Clearly, no one else was going to help the situation aside from slipping into complete pandemonium.

What had changed? What made me the type to take charge? My time in New York? No. I was still timid there. What about my time in Austria? Maybe some. Then what—

The dungeon.

My eyes went even wider as images flashed before my eyes.

It was like an overlay. Before, I had seen the phenomena when Italy was present. This time, it was America. Blood and blood and blood. Numbers. Blood. Eyes wide and unseeing. Dead. I could hear echoes in my mind, distant and rattling. Like a death rattle. Always rattling or dying.

It couldn't—I couldn't place it. I

I had reasoned this out already! In darkness.

No...No. No. No.

_To the me who lives at some point in time, and who isn't alone._

It never happened, never existed. It was my own fraying mind playing cruel tricks on me! HetaOni bore no influence in this world! None. There was no way what I was seeing was in any way real. A shiver coursed down my spine and I felt bile rise in the back of my throat, searing a path like lava. What if it was? Real. I swallowed it down, continued to stare at the ghostly image lain before me. I could hear a voice. Different from last time.

Only an image before.

Now an image and a voice.

_This is what insanity feels like, Michelle. This is what it does when it catches hold of you! It's eating you alive, and very soon now it will kill you! Fear and anger only make it grow faster!_

I shook violently as I tried to breathe.

_"I was a hero, wasn't I? I protected you, didn't I? I could be a hero... couldn't I?"_

America. Numbers. Clock. Italy. Manor. House. Screams. Death.

Alone. Dark. Echoes. No one. No. Information. Knowledge. No. Alone. Dark.

Alone, Michelle.

Together. Keep it together.

Michelle!

You're falling apart.

Gasping in a desperate breath, I resolved to keep my composure.

It didn't—didn't matter. It didn't matter. I was safe. Now, I was safe. I'd been safe for a month. I was safer than I had ever been. I didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter.

_Even when I followed different paths, no matter what I did, they still left me._

_That time...there. Didn't matter._

My eyes squeezed shut for a moment as I pulled at my short hair. I kept my whimper to myself. My eyes shut even tighter before I opened them again. The ghostly image was gone and the voices became muted. The scene was back to normal, or as normal as it could be with the given circumstances. Still horrific and terrifying. Britain was still shouting, landing on his knees on his "brother's" other side, and America was still panting, looking worriedly toward—My eyes followed his to Britain's frantic face and Canada's fearful expression. I needed to stop this, but I couldn't seem to break free from my own mind.

That was when America began to scream.


	21. Effect

" _I say that we do not propose to take this lying down. Our determination not to take it lying down has been expressed in the orders to the American Navy to shoot on sight. Those orders stand." –_ Franklin Delano Roosevelt (October 27, 1941)

America's scream was painful and terrifying. It was a sound that I never, ever wanted to hear again in my life. It tore through my body like an unbridled fire, scorching nearly every fiber of my being. The effect of it was hard to explain. It felt as if it were _my_ pain. It was behind the heart, in a deep part of my chest. There was no true focus to it besides the searing heat that blazed there. I doubled over, clutching at Alfred's hand like a lifeline. Was this his pain? He was my home. My Nation. My nation. Whatever hurt him, hurt me. Whatever hurt him—Another scream. I felt myself growing frustrated by my own inaction. The world became clearer and more vivid as the pain was shoved aside. I had to get it together. I had to focus. I had to help.

Alfred was still staring at Arthur, eyes wide and worried. He couldn't communicate at this point, but every time that Arthur yelled his name, America's breathing would hitch a little faster. I saw the situation in an instant and flew into action. Damn the consequence. Damn my own weaknesses. None of this was helping Alfred. That was all that mattered. All that _mattered._ Not my failing sanity, not the glimpses of otherworldly scenes. Not the dark dungeon of my own mind. Nothing but America. I surged forward and grabbed Britain's shaking wrist. "Arthur, you need to calm down. You're making him hyperventilate." My voice felt distant, as if it weren't my own. "Calm—"

"I am calm!" Britain shouted and jerked his hand from my reach. I flinched at his volume. He was madder than I had ever seen him. Far more furious than when I had arrived on the ship as half a woman. Far madder than when we had our argument. He was in a rage and now that anger was directed toward _me_. (I wondered though, if perhaps that anger had _always_ been directed toward me. Anger for everything he was going through.) He snarled, "You bit—"

"Calm. Down." I ordered and turned my attention away. My hands flittered over Alfred's face and he sent me a weak smile, just to show that he was alright. When Britain began yelling again, I raised my voice a little louder, not bothering to care about anything that came out of his mouth. It would likely be something he would regret in a few hours' time anyway. "Arthur! _Britain!_ I understand! I get it! You're scared and you're worried! I get that, but shut up or so help me God, I'll slap you so hard you'll be speaking Cockney for a week! Matthew, help me out here!" Knowing I'd never actually hit him, I refocused on America.

"You…t-tell him, Sh-Shelly." America let out a strangled laugh, but it seemed more like a whimper. "Shell's Bells is back…again."

Refocusing, I shifted and pressed a hand to his shoulder. His breathing hitched again as he dealt with another wave of pain. "Breathe. In. Out. You're gonna be alright. Good…Good. Keep it up." My right hand reached up to his hair and I brushed it carefully away from his face. He was sweating and his glasses were fogging up.

A quivering hand reached up to take the glasses off. Britain hesitated as he pulled the glasses away. Without them, Alfred looked infinitely younger—like a student that might've sat in the back row of my class, goofing off on his Apple computer. It was actually quite astounding. My nation was so young in comparison to others, just a kid himself. He shivered and then groaned again, his arm reaching across his midsection.

"You've gotta breathe, America. Breathe."

"N-Navy. Sh-Shit! Nine." He winced, legs drawing up as he postured. It seemed another wave of pain was crashing over him. I tried to prepare myself for what was to come. I felt my arms tingling from my own lack of stable breathing. "Ten. Oh God, t-ten." His hand snapped out to grab my hand and he squeezed it tightly, with such force that I thought my fingers would break. "N-No, eleven. D-Damn it."

Then, as if the storm had passed, he let out a sigh and relaxed. His hand still grasped mine, but it was a limp grip.

"E-Eleven."

"Y-You felt _each soldier_?" Britain questioned in an awed voice. He shook his head in utter confusion, staring at America's relaxed face. Now that the pain was gone, he was obvious dog-tired. I pressed my index and forefinger to his neck and directed my attention to the clock above the door. I began to count, barely paying attention to the discussion around me. "Y-You, America…"

"Y-Yeah. Each one."

America sighed, turning to look at me. I finished counting as the second hand hit the 'three.' I looked toward Britain and sighed, "He's tachycardic. Seems obvious after that…episode."

Arthur sent me a glare before rolling his eyes, "You maybe have a doctorate, but you aren't a medical doctor! Move aside!" His fingers pressed against Alfred's neck. I sighed, shaking my head. My eyes fell back on America's scared face.

"Gonna suck, isn't it, Michelle?" I caught the pained light in his eyes. It wasn't Pearl Harbor and that fact terrified me more than anything. This was something else. Something else entirely. "Those…Those were the first. First military— It wasn't—It wasn't _it_. Jap-Japan can d-do worse than that."

It struck me then. It struck me then what this was about. Why he was in such pain. A wave of guilt flew over me like nothing I had ever felt before. I should have _known_. I should have remembered this. Why _didn't_ I remember it? The first military deaths of the war. Before war was even declared. October 17, 1941. I should have known something like that. I did know it. And I didn't warn him. A sick feeling welled in my gut even as Britain declared in a begrudging voice that I was right about America's extremely high heart rate.

I should have remembered this.

" _USS Kearny_ ," I murmured. "I should've—"

"I knew they were Navy," America responded. He brushed off Britain's hand and struggled to sit upright on his own. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Step off, Britain." I turned to look at him and he seemed to read my mind. His expression became grave as he finally sat upright. "This isn't your fault, Michelle." Hearing that conviction in his tone, I almost believed him. Almost. "My boys weren't killed 'cause you couldn't remember this. They were killed because Germany's bein' an asshole."

This was no time for me to wallow in self-pity. It wasn't the time for me to bemoan my own guilt. I could do that later, when I was alone. And I would. Instead, I just frowned toward my friend and reached forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. The other Nations were watching the interaction closely, but I didn't bother with them. This was me and America. "I know. And you're right. _It_ will be much worse. A thousand times worse. When it comes."

America winced. We shared a long look. It was full of everything. The future. The past. The closeness that we now shared. Through trials and tribulations. Long talks and striped flags. It was something deeply moving. His head nodded just a bit, in understanding. I mirrored the action, showing my support of him. It was the simplest of actions and interactions. There were no words exchanged, no loud declarations, no fanfare, no screaming crowds. Some might have said that it was a very un-American exchange. And I would have told them that they were _wrong_.

It was one of the most patriotic exchanges I'd ever encountered.

We're loud. Yes. Extremely loud. Especially when we gather into large numbers. Sometimes, though, we don't need our volume to communicate our beliefs. We don't need any verbal communication at all. Just a nod or a significant look can communicate everything that needs to be said. It was a truth in all countries, but I knew it was so in America from experience.

If nothing else had, that moment America and I shared solidified out relationship: as family.

"What's all this about?" Britain interrupted the moment, clearly annoyed at having been ignored.

I kept my mouth shut, leaving it to America's discretion on how he wanted to handle the situation. It had become increasingly clear that Alfred had only told Britain about certain parts of my letter. Arthur clearly wasn't aware of the impending attack on Pearl Harbor, for example. If he was, then he would have been freaking out a bit more. Quite a bit more. Starting to move to stand up, I found a hand being held out to me.

Russia was smiling, as per his usual, but there was a sharper edge to it. There was a darker aura about him, oppressing and gleaming. "You need help up, comrade?" The gesture likely seemed innocent to all those observing, but I saw it as a test. He wanted to see if I would accept his hand, his help.

Reaching up, I grabbed his fingers and he effortlessly pulled me to my feet. "Thank you," I sent him a grateful grin before turning to see America being helped from the floor by Britain and Canada.

Arthur sent Russia, myself, and China a stern look before turning his back. "I'm taking him to the medical wing."

"Aw man—"

"Shut it! And we'll see to this meeting tomorrow morning. Guest quarters will be available to you, Ivan, Yao. Michelle, come."

Jerking at his commanding tone, I sent him a quick glare before he disappeared out of the meeting room. When I started to follow, I realized that the large Nation still had a hold on my hand. Turning slightly, I glanced up at him with a confused look. Ivan merely smiled disarmingly. The dark aura was gone and in its place was an easy sort of pleasure. Perhaps I had just earned his…respect? I didn't quite know what I had earned in taking his hand, but it was _something_.

"You _do_ know the future." The pleasantness in that statement was more than a little unsettling. I wasn't sure if he meant it to be (unsettling) or not. I didn't quite want to jump to conclusions. Even still, I knew that Russia was just like every other Nation. He had both light and dark in him. "That is useful."

"All my knowledge has done is hurt people." I began to step away, but he held my hand firmly.

"Information is not bad. It is the way you use the information." Ah, and there it was. The Russia I had been expecting all along. He shifted a bit, glancing around the space to see if anyone else was around. There was no one. (Save for Canada, who was waiting patiently at the doorway. His eyes were a little darker than I was expecting. Russia didn't see him though. Maybe that was Matthew's intention though—to remain invisible for the moment.) "You have the support of Russia, _dushenka_."

Despite myself, I couldn't help but to be surprised by that endearment. It seemed so oddly placed in the conversation. "That's not a romantic term, is it? As flattered as I might be…"

"No, simply a term between friends." Russia smiled disarmingly. He nodded his head in my direction. "We will get you home. Safe. Then we do fighting to end this war."

It wasn't going to be that simple, but I smiled anyway. Reaching forward, I pressed a hand to his upper arm. He seemed a little startled by the contact but his shock softened into something else after a moment. My voice was low when I spoke, but I knew that the other Nations could hear. "The war won't end for a while."

"I am knowing that," he nodded.

"MICHELLE!"

Jumping at the sheer volume of Arthur's shout, I turned toward the doorway where Matthew was waiting. He gave me a small nod and gestured toward the main house. So, it seemed he was waiting to escort me. Russia released my hand and I stepped away. I was in the doorway before Ivan called out to me, grabbing my cane as I went. Turning, I could see part of his face cast in shadow from the bright light of the windows. My breath caught. He looked the most intimidating since I had met him.

"Life never gets easier, does it? For me?"

Canada rested a hand on my shoulder in a silent show of support. I considered Russia's question before giving him the most supportive smile I could, even while my stomach was sinking into the earth. "That depends on who you ask. The same goes for every other Nation. You've lived for hundreds of years, Ivan. You tell me: does life get easier or does it just…go on?" With that, I turned and left him to his thoughts.

Matthew was quiet for most of the walk toward the infirmary wing. He fiddled with the buttons of his coat before finally clearing his throat. "You…might want to stay away from him."

"Russia wouldn't hurt me," I replied with confidence. "If anything, he would do the same thing as Germany. Keep me alive. None of the Nations would kill me because of my knowledge. Frankly, if I had _anyone_ to fear, it would be China. He clearly sees the danger of having someone like me around. For that, he might be the smartest out of all of you. Removing that threat would be the most logical move at the moment."

"You can't just devalue yourself into an—an object like that!" Canada cried, a quiet strength hidden behind his high voice. I continued to walk. "Russia can be dangerous, Michelle."

"I know that," I replied equally, calmly. "So can America. Britain. China. You."

"Me?" He stopped suddenly with an alarmed squeak in his voice. I paused on the staircase, turning back to face him. Really, Canada was one of the most confusing characters in the whole Hetalia-verse. He was quiet, but outspoken to anyone who would listen. He was his own person, but often fell in line with Britain and America. He seemed like some quiet weakling, but was actually strong. "Dangerous? Me?"

He didn't know what was coming and the role he had to play in it. Certainly, he had been fighting for a year now, but…There was so much more coming, especially for him. "You're dangerous. Just as much as everyone else. You have one of the best Air Forces of anyone here. You'll command the respect of your allies for your contributions. You're far from a passive nation in this war."

He looked stunned. I turned on my heel and continued up the stairs. There was no way I would tell him that most people ultimately forgot his presence in the war effort. In all honesty though, at the time of World War Two, Canada only had eleven million in his population. Considering that, he did quite well in comparison to the other nations, who possessed far greater numbers. He didn't really ever get the credit he deserved for his role in the war.

Trekking down the hallway, I finally came to the infirmary.

"You need to calm down. Britain, I'm okay."

"I'll be the one to determine that."

"Geez, you're shaking. Mad that I ruined the meeting, huh?"

"Of course not! I just…Oh, bloody hell. Forget it. Give me your arm. I need to check your pulse again." There were a few muffled words before Britain let out a sigh. "Telling me that won't help. We're sending her _somewhere,_ Alfred. We have to. For our own safety."

I stopped, pressing myself to the wall outside the room. By this time, I was so used to eavesdropping that no guilt even accompanied it any longer. It was simply a fact of life by this time. A fact of my life. And that realization was quite sad.

"Of course _you_ want to send her away!" America's voice was like steel. "You haven't stopped bein' an ass to her since she got here, Britain. It's startin' to really piss me off, man."

Arthur was silent for a few moments and I wondered whether he would answer that accusation. He did after a while. His words made my stomach tie into knots. "I do not mean to—to hurt her. She is merely…an easy target. Besides, she needs someone like me to keep her on her toes."

"You hate her—"

"I most certainly _do not_." Britain sounded completely affronted. "That girl is one that I would defend to the last, I'll have you know. You would do the same! I daresay that she's endeared herself to us all. Though thoroughly unintentionally."

"Defend to the—Britain, do you—What?"

There was an exhausted sigh and the sound of the bed springs crunching under some weight. In my mind, I could imagine Arthur sinking onto the edge of the bed while Alfred looked on with wide sky-blue eyes. "To send _me_ letters. To remain strong in the face of uncertainty. To keep her secrets locked away so tightly even while she was…" i let out a sigh of relief, glad that Britain thouht better than to tell America what had happened while I was locked away. "To be so…To understand us. Truly, _understand_. She's someone that we can't allow to come into danger, Alfred. We cannot allow Germany to have her again. It's the principle of the matter, really. Nothing overly emotional about it."

"Cyeah, that explains the scowl on your face perfectly," was America's sarcastic response. There was a pause. "I'm warnin' you, Iggy. She's _way_ off-limits. Like off the map, off-limits."

"W-what—You utter _fool!_ Why do you Americans always think in those terms? You automatically jump to romance! That bloody frog's fault no doubt." I smiled slightly at the sheer incredulity in his tone. Seeing a movement out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matthew walking up with a bear held in his arms. I paid the animal little mind and looked to Canada's expression. He was smiling brightly. Well, that was a comfort at least. Matthew's smile was comforting in dark times.

"It probably _is_ France's fault," Canada whispered. I shot him an amused grin.

"Just makin' sure that you're not aimin' for my citizen." I could hear the shrug in Alfred's tone. "Not that she would have you anyway."

"It's hardly the time." I couldn't have agreed more with Arthur's statement. America was being ridiculous. Perhaps the lack of oxygen had gone to his head. "Besides, you know that I've learned my lesson. Courting humans is considered bad form. Remember that?"

"Yeah, I remember. France taught me that lesson. Not you." Cringing, I looked to Canada. He gave me a sad nod of confirmation. It was a reference of France's former human love, Jeanne. America's voice was firm and careful, like he was worried about stepping on a landmine. Considering who actually killed Jeanne, it was probably a very sensitive topic for all involved. "She's around us a lot, Britain. It's a risk. You know what happened when Jeanne…and, well, I don't want that happening to her. It's not going to happen to her."

"She's a level-headed woman," Britain let out a sigh. "She'll take that into account, I'm sure, should the worst occur."

Up until this overheard conversation, I had never _really_ given romantic love a second thought in this world. With everything that had been happening around me, it never seemed like a pressing issue. And it still wasn't. Really, it didn't make me sick or worried. It was barely a passing thought in my mind. The only real thought was that their worry was endearing. Beyond that, I dealt it nothing more than a shrug. Canada sent me a questioning look when I smiled to myself. I could set things like that aside to focus on the bigger picture at hand. And I was glad for it. I didn't have time to waste on romance.

Not while I had so much else to worry about.

Not when I couldn't even trust myself to be stable.

Not when I could barely tell reality from hallucination.

Taking a deep breath, I sent Matthew a small smile before raising my voice and striding forward at the same time. "You summoned me, my liege?"

"You're getting more and more snarky, Michelle. It's concerning. Do be careful with that barbed tongue." I snorted at his sarcasm. He stood and stepped away from the bed as I made my way over. "He's fine. Just needs a bit of rest."

"Bit of rest, my lily white ass! I'm healthy as a horse!" America waved an enthusiastic hand at me, as if waving away the tension that was in the room before my arrival. "Come on, Shelly! You know I'm tougher than this. Tough as nails. It pisses me off more than anything else."

Nodding, I sank into the chair by the bed. Our positions were reversed now. He was in the bed and I was the one holding his hand. It was oddly poignant. "We Americans tend to do that, huh?"

"Do what? You normally laze about or shout the walls down." Britain snorted, shaking his head.

Before America could retort, I shot Arthur a glare. "Americans don't take things lying down. We get riled up. If one of us is attacked by an outside party, you sure as hell better bet that some retribution is coming your way." I studiously ignored America's questioning look and settled my gaze on Matthew. He looked a little uncomfortable standing by the door. "You alright, Matt?"

He jumped at my address and looked with a note of panic toward Alfred. "I'm—I'm fine."

America shot his brother a look before nodding his head. His sigh caught my attention and he let his head fall back into the plump pillow behind his head. "It's okay, Canadia. Not your fault. (1)"

Confused, I looked between the two. I was intent not to intrude on the exchange, so I stepped away and walked to the window of the infirmary room. Arthur followed my actions, obviously intending to give the two brothers time to themselves. Matthew approached the bed quickly and grabbed his brother's hand, worry breaking over his face. It was heart-wrenching, so much so that it was difficult to look away. I did, though, and shifted my attention to the countryside outside the window. A haze rested on the hillside, lit by the moonlight.

"What was that about? Americans getting riled?"

Turning to face Britain, I wondered just how far I could go with my explanation. I settled for vague. "Just like everyone else, America has to learn from experience." Britain's mouth opened, but I cut him off. "Suffice to say that we don't simply mourn…We get even."

"Eleven sailors were killed," Arthur supplied after a few moments. I turned to face him, but he was staring over at Canada and America. There was a protective fondness in his eyes that made him look every bit the father-figure he was. It seemed that Britain had finally cracked a bit and he was allowing his true emotions to come through his angry mask. "He has endured many wars. They both have. I—I fear for them both."

It was the first time. The first time that Britain confided in me something that was so dear to his heart. And, despite his apparent distrust, it was a show of faith. I shifted and continued to listen to his quiet words. Quiet enough that the men across the room couldn't hear.

"I've seen more war than the two of them combined. I know the pain that comes with unprovoked attacks. It's the reason why Canada was able to remain composed and America reacted to the pain. He wasn't prepared. Once a Nation enters a state of war, they enter a mindset of almost-constant hurt. Always a dull ache, sometimes sharp spasms when the battles claim large numbers. America was unprepared. He doesn't think that anyone can harm him, so he never prepares for the pain that comes with war. I'm afraid that one day that arrogance will come back to haunt him."

"Does he not think of it?" I questioned, gaining Arthur's attention as he turned to stare at me. Some part of me knew that I had no right to question him. He knew America far longer than I did. He raised Alfred since he was a young boy. What could I possibly know? Still, I felt the need to explain something on the behalf of an American. "I think he does. He knows. America's not a fool. He may act that way most of the time and he can be an idiot at times. He's loud and obnoxious and he eats too much. That doesn't mean that he's _unaware_ of the world's conflicts. He knew this would happen eventually. He just chose to ignore it."

"Is that really so much better?"

My head shook, "I'm not saying it's better. Is ignorance better than inaction? Some might say 'yes' while some might say 'no.'" Shrugging, I glanced toward where my Nation was speaking with Canada. His gaze flickered over to me and Arthur. He held up a hand and signaled a 'thumbs-up' while grinning like a maniac. "I don't know. All I know is that when you attack our Navy…When they run out of torpedoes, they shout things like 'Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.'"

Britain's eyes went wide at the smallest note of maliciousness in my tone. Frankly, I wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. I had never denied my patriotic side. It had been instilled in me since my biker grandfather had told me stories of the war while I sat on his knee. "What—"

I shrugged, "America is one Nation that you don't want to piss off. Mostly because he'll go to almost ridiculous means to get the job done. He's a good ally to have in this war. Maybe not quite as good as Russia." Britain looked at me sharply and I sighed. "Russia could kick Germany's ass by himself, probably. Stalin could probably take Hitler out at any time. Russia's got the cannon fodder to back himself up. Armies are ultimately finite resources. Russia's resources are broader."

"Ah, you don't sound impressed."

"It's war," I responded to him. "I'm not impressed with any of it. I'm merely stating facts. Do with it what you will."

He nodded mutely, looking over toward where America was still talking to Canada. After a few moments, Britain spoke up again. "He had to help me with the Great War. Got over himself and decided to talk to me again. I _hated_ it. Needing _his_ help. Now, he will have to help me with another was. And it makes me realize that...I'm not infallible. That I…cannot do this alone."

My eyes shifted over to him and my head shook. "Arthur, you've never been alone in this war. If have felt like that then perhaps you should open your eyes and look around. Look at all the people gathered to help." A smile pulled at my lips as I reached out to place a supportive hand on his shoulder. "You'll make it through this and you'll be the stronger for it." A particularly poignant quote worked itself into my mind and for some reason, I felt like Britain needed to hear it. "Look for the helpers, Arthur. Even in the worst of times, you can always find helpers. (2)" Before he could respond, I decided to take my leave for the evening.

I had some serious thinking to do.

America's voice stopped me before I reached the door. "Straight to your room, young lady. Don't get near Russia." Rolling my eyes, I continued for the hallway. "I'm serious, Shelly! Don't be hatin!"

"Goodnight, America!" There was a muffled reply before I shut the door to the infirmary.

A long day was finally drawing to a close. At least, that's what I thought until I happened upon a rather large shadow standing in front of the door to my bedroom. My heart rate sped up almost instantly at the realization of who was waiting for me. Russia was leaning lazily against the wall in the darkness of the hallway. Only the pale light from the window behind him gave some illumination to an otherwise dark space. When he heard my boots against the hardwoods, he turned and gave me the barest hint of a smile.

"Hello, Ivan."

"Hello, _dushenka_."

Still a little unnerved by the endearment, I stopped and looked him over. There didn't seem to be anything unusual about his presence—aside from the time of night and the lack of other people. That fact alone had my breath growing a bit shallower than before. My head shook to get rid of the illogical fear. Russia was hardly aiming to intimidate. In fact, he was doing everything he could to appear unintimidating. His pipe cane was not present. He was leaning against the wall, almost as if to lower his height. He was wearing that typical smile, but it seemed a little less fake than usual.

Moving slowly, I positioned myself at the opposite side of the hallway. I settled my cane on the wall and leaned back, crossing my arms as I did so. "What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong."

To show my skepticism, I merely stared at him. He stared right back. After a few moments, I realized that this was going to get us nowhere. It was best to clear the air before anything else. "Sorry for being blunt, Ivan, but I want to clarify a few things. I don't know what plans you have in store for me and I apologize for assuming the worst of you. That's not my intention. Just, if anyone had the means to abduct me, it would be you. I want to clarify that I would never divulge my secrets to anyone. Not even you."

A flicker of shock threw across his shadowed face before his smile became a bit colder. "You believe I would kidnap you then?"

Shrugging, I closed my eyes and leaned back. "I don't actually think that, no, but I know that you're desperate. You're in a lot of pain right now, too. I know that desperation can sometimes bring out the worst in people."

He dropped the smile altogether. "More than anyone, I know what desperation can do."

"I believe that," I nodded.

Russia considered me for a few moments. "You are not afraid?"

"I am," I answered honestly. "For a lot of reasons. I'm scared that I'll be taken again. I'm scared that I'll be alone. I'm scared that the timeline will change too much. I'm scared of something harming America. I'm scared of what's to come. I'm scared for Arthur and Matthew. For you. For China. For New York and the States. I'm scared for Italy and Hungary. And Germany. I'm scared that I'll never make it back home. That a normal life is nothing but a dream. I'm scared of a lot of things, Ivan. In the grand scheme of these things, _you_ 're not my greatest fear."

For a moment, the giant Nation seemed utterly stunned. His violet eyes (which almost seemed to glow in the darkness) were wide with surprise. Then, his shoulders rounded a bit and he lowered his gaze to the floor. " _Dushenka_ , yes. That _is_ what I will call you." I still didn't know what the word meant, but when he said it this time, he said it with more conviction. He pushed off the wall and stood at his full height. "I mean what I say before. I will find you a way to your home. And I will not take you from here, if that is not what you wish. I will only do that if you want." Russia looked at me for a few more seconds before turning on his heel to walk toward the stairs.

"Wait… so _were_ you planning to abduct me?"

" _Da._ Of course I was!" He replied happily over his shoulder. "Now, I just happy to meeting you!" With that said, he disappeared down the stairs. "Sleep well, little one."

Sighing, I pressed my hand to my head and continued to lean on the wall. Russia was a confusing Nation. He certainly had that threatening aura about him, but there was an innocence there as well. It was once again a strange blessing to see the true man behind the mask. Though, after meeting so many Nations, it almost seemed like Russia was one of the least fake of them all. He smiled, yes, but his smile was so fake that it was obvious. How anyone could be fooled was beyond my fathoming. Besides, he was straightforward in a way that was somewhat refreshing. Shaking my head at the ridiculousness of my encounter with Ivan, I pushed off the wall and headed into my bedroom.

Just as I reached the doorway and began to step inside, the room became overlaid with another image. My eyes widened and I looked over the scene, bile rising in my throat.

It was…It was disturbing, chilling, haunting. And I recognized it immediately. I knew exactly what it was.

A white piano sat at the center of the room.

Somehow, I was able to make my feet move. I moved further inside and shut the door, staring at the blood all the while. It coated bits of the room, as if many battles had been fought throughout. Some numbers were painted here and there, but I paid them little mind. My body quivered and shook as I backed myself up against the closed door. The strength seemed to completely disappear from my legs and I slid to the wooden floors. On instinct, I tried to catch myself with my hands, but I couldn't find a grip. My hands were too slippery.

I raised them up to see blood coating them.

" _Michelle! Michelle!"_

_"Two seconds is long enough…to save the life of one nation...you know..."_

Letting out a breath, I just closed my eyes and listened to the voices speak. I'd seen enough of these images to last me a lifetime. Now, twice in one day. It was getting worse. The voices were new though. They were another clue. They were going to explain all of this. And I was going to figure it out. I was smart enough to figure this out. On my own. Alone. No need to involve anyone else. My hands fell into my lap and I clenched them into fists. I wasn't going to fall victim to whatever this was: waking nightmare, my own trauma.

No, I wasn't going to—

"Michelle Daniels, you must hurry. Hurry or it will be too late."

My eyes flew open, but the image was gone. The words seemed to echo in my ears.

"...too late."

** Footnotes: **

(1) The USS Kearny was a American Naval ship that was guarding a Canadian contingent when they came under fire. The eleven soldiers that lost their lives were the first US American miltiary deaths of World War II.

(2) This is a quote from Mr. Rogers.


	22. Page

" _This is the lesson: never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never—in nothing, great or small, large or petty—never give in except to convictions of honour and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy."_

 _–_ Winston Churchill (October 29, 1941)

Trying to make sense of it all was a difficult task. I tried to figure out just how far the changes reached, but found myself sinking in quicksand. There was simply no escaping how far the ripple effect had spread. Leaning back in my chair, I stared blankly down at the brown leather journal—a gift from Egypt. The off-white pages were thick and stable, unlike the world around me. It was almost like speaking to Egypt himself when I was writing on those pages. It was comforting, strong and steady. The journal, like him, listened without judgment. My scribbled handwriting (which was little better than chicken-scratch) contained my penned thoughts on the observed timeline changes.

Ultimately, the largest changes occurred in North Africa. The positions of Libya and Egypt had become reversed. Whereas in my own timeline Egypt was free of Italian and German control throughout the war, Libya had been a warzone. Those roles were now reversed. Egypt was now a warzone while Libya had been effectively captured by Allied forces, despite the former hold that Italy held on it.

I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. There had to be a specific reason for it. And it all came down to the success at Halfaya Pass. It spurred the Allied forces along to capture El Aghelia and then onto other parts of the Libyan fronts. Furthermore, it also led to the British procurement of 88 mm guns—anti-tank technology—from the fallen German forces. This shifted the odds in the Allies' favor and allowed for the conquering of Libya.

Germany and the Axis couldn't allow Britain to take the whole of the North African front. So, more pressure was applied to Egypt. I discovered (after some research) that the Egyptian monarch, King Foruk, was killed just after my departure—something that did not occur in the original timeline. This left the government in turmoil. With pressure from Germany and Italy, Egypt surrendered.

None of it made any sense.

Certainly, it made sense how the Allies could take Libya. It just didn't quite make sense how the Axis could gain Egypt or Syria. The whole decisive German defeat didn't take place until 1942. Yet, somehow, Egypt had fallen in 1941. With Egypt under Axis' control, it meant that the Suez Canal was also taken. It meant that Algeria and Syria were lost battles. The whole African campaign was in shambles.

All of this led me to one chilling conclusion: the timeline was screwed.

"What's up, Shell's Bells?"

I glanced over to where America was standing in the doorway. He looked dog-tired, with his glasses sitting farther up on his nose than usual. His trademark leather jacket wasn't anywhere in sight and his uniform blazer was gone as well. He looked overworked with just his white button up shirt and loosened tie. Leaning back, I let out a sigh and gestured toward the journal. "Just writing down some thoughts."

He nodded as he crossed his arms, "I figured. You've been sitting at that desk all day. C'mon. Got a meeting to head to, you know." When I started to shake my head, he laughed. "You act like you have a choice. Get up and let's get goin'!"

Sighing, I closed the journal and laid a hand on the leather cover, brushing my fingers along the three lines at the corner. "I don't feel comfortable going to these meetings, America. It's not my place. I'm not a Nation." As if I needed to remind him of that fact.

Alfred just snorted, "Quit standin' on formality already. Geez, you're so freakin' stuffy. If we didn't want you in there, then we wouldn't be opening the door." He saw that I wasn't moving and obviously decided to take action. Moving forward, he pulled my hand off the journal and grabbed my arm. It was a gentle movement, brotherly, but he pulled me to my feet and began dragging me toward the door. I didn't bother to fight it. He was ridiculously stronger than me and he was determined. I didn't have a chance. "Really, Shelly. C'mon! You gotta loosen up!"

"Cane," I reminded him as we reached the door.

"Psh, you'll be fine without it." He had ahold of me, so I didn't bother to protest. I was finally to the point that I could walk without the aid, but the cane had become something of a safety net. It helped me to feel more secure in my movements. Not only that, it was an enduring reminder of what I lost. I liked to keep it with me at all times. "Whatcha been writing about anyway?"

My shoulders shrugged as America led me down the stairs. "Nothing important."

Really, it was best to keep the Nations as unaware as possible. I didn't have a plan to counteract the changes in the timeline yet. Short of getting home, I really didn't see how I could change anything to fix the mistakes. Even if I _did_ find a way home, would my departure reset the timeline entirely? These logistical questions were always plaguing my thoughts, tearing away every chance I had for a peaceful night of rest. I couldn't help but to think of what might happen if the timeline became even more skewed. If I left and the timeline didn't reset, then what would happen? And what about the glimpses of HetaOni? Would those stop? I hadn't seen the visions in a day ago, since the night that America had lost his first military service members.

"Shelly, you're zoning out again. Are you getting enough sleep?"

America came to a stop just outside of the annex. His blue eyes swept over to me and I saw worry in them, flickering brightly. I tensed and smiled at him, hoping to ease his fears. "How're you feeling after… _Kearny_?"

"Feelin' okay. And you changed the subject. I'm not stupid, Michelle. I know you haven't been sleeping good." When he saw my surprised expression, he let out a laugh. "Ha, really? You think I didn't notice? Hell, even Britain knows. I'd be surprised if freakin' Russia didn't know. And he's only been here for a day!"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters because you're making yourself sick. Look, whatever it is…You can tell me, okay? I'm here to listen to it. I don't care if it's nothing. Sometimes I just ignore the 'atmosphere,' but that doesn't mean that I can't sense it. Just…yeah. I trust you. You should trust me, too. Got it?" That was articulate, America. At my stare, he looked to the ground and pretended to kick a nonexistent rock. "It's not Egypt, right?"

Blinking at the sudden question, I pulled my brows together and frowned. "No…that's…Though that's on my mind also…" It wasn't actually a lie. That wasn't why I was having trouble sleeping though. Well, maybe it was. I always had to have the light on and, despite being secure in Britain's home, I still felt a little nervous from time to time. The windows made me nervous. As if I would wake up with Spain and Prussia at the end of my bed. It was a fear I really couldn't shake. I had never felt that way in Egypt. I always felt safe there. "Just nervous energy. A lot has happened over the past few days."

"If it's Russia, I can just kick him out of the house. He should get the hell back to the his front anyway. They're closing in on Moscow."

"Has he secured the city?" Catching America's distasteful glare, I rolled my eyes. "Ivan is your ally right now, whether you like it or not. You're in the process of giving him the lend-lease. Why're you still acting like a child?"

"Lend-lease means he _owes_ me," America shrugged. "It means he owes me big time." I averted my gaze away, knowing that I couldn't give anything away concerning the tension between Russia and America. They would eventually have nukes pointed at each other's shores. To put it in a more illustrative light, Alfred would hold a gun to Russia's head while Russia did the same in return. It was one of the most anxious times in history, worry of nuclear war on the horizon. How close we had come to destroying ourselves…My head shook and I refocused my attention toward the end of the hallway. "And I'm not acting like a kid!"

"You are," I responded back blandly. "Anyway, what's this meeting about?"

"Trying to find a way to get you home. We need to agree on something." He waved me off and started walking down the hallway without me. I stared after him for a moment before reaching out my left hand to press against the wall. I walked along after him, feeling particularly bare without my cane. I _knew_ I should have brought it along. Relying on America for this kind of care was ill-thought. He just wasn't mindful enough for it. Sighing, I watched as he came to a stop in front of the door. "What's taking—"

Just as he started to turn around, I found an object shoved into my right hand. I lowered my eyes quickly from where America was staring to where a cane was held in my palm. It looked remarkably like a pipe. Instinct told me exactly who it belonged to and who was standing at my side, but I didn't turn to face him. Instead, I simply placed the cane on the ground and continued walking as if nothing had happened. "Thank you," I acknowledged in a low tone.

"You are welcome," he responded with a cheerful chuckle. "Ah, America! It is good to see you. You are coming to the meeting, yes?"

"Yeah…duh." America drawled, crossing his arms. I sent him a look that clearly said 'don't start.' For a moment, I thought for certain that he was going to give Russia the what-for. He seemed to reconsider at the last second, snapping his mouth shut. And, with practiced ease, his mask was placed on with a loud laugh. "For real, my dawg, I can't miss out on the meeting. Obviously, I'm the hero and someone has to lead you all."

I saw the act for what it was: an act.

Glancing over to Ivan, I noticed that he was smiling as well. Another act.

Rolling my eyes at the entire exchange, I simply moved forward (with the pipe cane in hand) and stepped into the meeting room. It was actually interesting to see the drawings on the board. There were three faces to the right hand side with one face in the center of the three. I stared at it for a moment before turning to look at Britain. "Really?" My tone was incredulous. "Erase that. It's unnecessary."

"It is for illustrative purposes," Britain commented off-handedly. He tapped a stack of papers on the table and settled them down once more. "I think it is a brilliant drawing."

"It's not the _quality_ of the sketching, Arthur. It's the fact that it's there in the first place." My glare shifted back to the board.

At the center of three very clearly definable Nations (all of whom had labels written underneath), there was a rough sketch of my face. There was a scowl, short and scraggly hair, and a distinct downturn in my lips. He was clearly doing this to set me off, to get a rise out of me. After another moment of staring, I decided that the argument just wasn't worth my energy. Underneath my face was the word: gimp. Gritting my teeth, I wrangled in my anger and pushed it down into the pit of my stomach.

Don't feed the animals.

Don't give Arthur the satisfaction.

Keeping me on my toes, indeed.

My head simply shook and I made my way to the seat beside Matthew, who had waved me over. "England, Norway, and Romania."

"The three magical Nations," Canada confirmed. "Finland is out entirely because of his attachment to Christmas. That usually drains his power. It was something we forgot to consider. With Christmas approaching, his magic will be dedicated to that."

"Not to mention he hates Russia," I chuckled.

"There's that, too." Canada smiled.

"I'm out of the running as you have said my powers will not work." I glanced over to Arthur, who looked a little miffed at the fact that his jab at my appearances didn't work. "Though, I'm not quite certain where you are getting your information."

"That failed attempt way-back-when was pretty telling," I retorted. His pride just couldn't let him admit that anything went wrong. Even if he had admitted when it happened that the whole thing went accidentally insane. Besides, of all things, I was _not_ going to tell the Nations that I could occasionally speak to the Ancients. It would open too many wounds and it would make them think me _beyond_ crazy. It was already difficult enough convincing them that their world was truly fictional to me. Maintaining some credibility was the best option at the moment. "Next choice?"

Arthur scoffed and looked away, pointedly crossing his arms. I gave him a small shake of my head, showing that his ill-behavior was noted and disapproved. What did it matter if he was a thousand of years old or actually twenty-three? He was being rude. "Romania is out of the question."

Russia spoke up then as he came to take a seat on my other side. I didn't miss the seething glare that Alfred sent his way before taking his seat next to Britain. "Well, Comrade Romania is…occupied at the moment."

"Besides," America snorted. "Dude's way too obsessed with getting Transylvania back to do anything to piss Germany off." Too obsessed? When I looked at him with confusion, he just shrugged.

Instead, it was Canada that stepped in to explain. "Transylvania is…like a family heirloom. The Nation that once represented that region passed from the world and left a symbol that represents him. L-Like what Texas did. Raphael was born again as a State, but…He was a Nation and gave those glasses to Alfred as a symbol." As if to emphasize his brother's point, Alfred adjusted his spectacles and sent me a grin.

"Alright…" I trailed off. It almost felt like whenever my students got sidetracked from an actual question or topic. "So, Romania is out. That leaves Norway."

"Yeah, Norway." A couple of them—Britain and Canada mostly—sighed in unison. Britain took the lead and shook his head, waving a hand flippantly. "It'll be a difficult task to pull off. In fact, the whole idea is insane. Norway has never been the most cooperative of Nations."

"That's because you planned to invade him," Canada commented off-handedly. I felt my eyes go wide and I stared at Britain in disbelief. His face grew red with anger and he turned on the North American country.

"That's not what—Plan R 4 was meant to be an _intervention_ , not an invasion. I knew that Germany wanted to claim Norway for his ocean access. And Sweden has some of the biggest iron ore deposits in the world. After France, my supplies from Lorraine's mines had disappeared. I needed ore from somewhere. Why not try for a two-for-one deal?"

"Clearly that says 'intervention,'" China nodded. I almost snorted at his sarcasm. Nevermind, I outright laughed at his sarcasm. In return, Yao actually shot me a flicker of a smile before his face became emotionless again.

"Britain, are you crazy?"

The gentleman shrugged his shoulders in response to America's question. "I don't quite know anymore. I might be quite mad. We're all quite mad here." At this, I snorted into my hand, catching his on-the-sly reference. Britain sent me a small grin, showing that he heard my acknowledgement of his cleverness. The quote was from 'Alice in Wonderland,' the book I had just recently finished from Britain's study. Then, Russia spoke up.

"You were going to use me as a distraction."

Arthur nodded. "Of course, I was. Russia, your skirmish with Finland would have been an excellent diversion!" A wistful sigh escaped him and he shook his head. "No, that plan was just doomed to failure. Too bad. It would have been a fantastic strategy."

"Can we focus on sending her home? We're wasting time." China crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, shooting a glare over the table to me. I merely sent him a nod, understanding his frustration. It was difficult enough to keep a bunch of twenty-something's on task. To him, this had to seem much like how I felt when teaching teenagers. "Are we going to send her into isolation or send her home?"

At that, I felt myself go extremely still. It seemed that the air had been pushed from my lungs. Iso-Isolation? Letting out a quivering breath, I looked toward America to find that he was glaring off toward the right. Britain was mirroring his adoptive brother's actions, glaring to the left. It seemed that the only two people at the table that could look me in the eye were Russia and China.

"You are shocked?" China's question caught me off-guard, but I was quickly able to regain my composure.

They had discussed putting me into isolation. I couldn't say when they had argued the point, but it had clearly been an option. One that it seemed they were all thinking about. Terror swept through me like a rogue wave. No, I had to remain calm. In the light of history's changes, it made sense why they would want to put me into isolation. It would keep me at their disposal while also keeping me away from the Axis powers.

"I—" My throat felt full and I cleared it, resting my folded hands on the table. "I understand the motivation."

"You do?" China questioned, brows pulling together. "You would be a prisoner."

"It makes sense," I responded levelly. "I don't like it. Obviously. Since when does it matter what I like and don't like? Isolation would be logical, if all other means fail. If that is ultimately y'all's decision, then I only request that I be placed into America's care." Nodding resolutely, I felt my control taking over once more. I could handle this. "America, if you choose to place me in isolation then I would like to go live on one of the Native reservations. They're distant and most could use help with their education systems."

"You're bloody _infuriating_!" Britain shoved his chair back and stood, glaring down at me with his green eyes alight. "Don't just accept everything! Are you insane? You would just allow us to do whatever we please? That's utter tosh and you know it!"

Sighing, I pressed my hand to my forehead and frowned. "Britain, I'm a human. I have no connections, no real money, no prospects, no real _agency_. I'm a nonentity here. And I am very much aware of my position. I'm like a file—a secret file—that must be kept secure at all costs. If your government so much as heard a _rumor_ of my presence, what do you think would happen?" He pulled back as if he had been hit. "It's not that I don't care what happens to me, Arthur. I just know when to choose my battles and when to just surrender." Shrugging my shoulders, I leveled him the most confident look I could. Inside, I was uncertain and scared. Very scared. "I'm surrendering to the decision that you all make. Like I said, I can't say I'm at all surprised that you would consider isolation. It makes sense."

"You are trying to keep emotion out of it," China surmised with a note of respect in his tone.

I turned to him and nodded. "This is war. Emotion gets people killed. Especially in tactical decisions. Feelings can be powerful. I'm not saying that they can't. In a situation like this though, you all need to make this decision based upon what you think is right, _not_ based on your personal connection to me." When I finished saying this, I pushed my chair back and stood. "With that in mind, I'll take my leave. Once you've decided on your course of action, I'll be in the study or my bedroom."

"Shelly—"

I continued to move away, leaving Russia's cane hooked on the edge of the table. "Yes, America?"

"Why?"

Stopping at the door, I turned just a bit to see each Nation staring at me with wide eyes. My hands grasped at the molding of the doorway. Really, it surprised me that they were so surprised. They had made decisions for years without the input of a human. They didn't need me there. "I trust you. I trust you to do the right thing. Even if it is to send me into a state of isolation. You'll do what you think is best for your nations. That's all I can ask." Feeling extremely confident in my decision, I stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

"SHE'S BLOODY _MAD_!"

Shaking my head, I allowed a small smile to slip onto my face. Britain was probably right. I was likely out of my mind. No, I knew I was—to some degree. One doesn't endure the things I have and come out unscathed or unchanged. My experiences made my eyes open. I wasn't important, not in the grand scheme of things in this world. If it cost me everything (even my life), I was going to right the repercussions of my actions. And, really, I didn't know how. One step was to overcome my own selfishness. It was this that spurred my decision to leave the meeting room.

I slowed to a stop outside of the radio room, eyes turning to stare at the closed door. It had been days since I had last communicated with New York. Deciding that I needed the comfort, I gently opened the door and shut it behind myself. I flipped the light on and moved toward the radio, settling myself into the worn leather chair. My legs hooked back and I leaned onto my elbows, staring at the contraption.

Fiddling with a few dials, I thought back to how life had been when I was living with New York. Work was steady. It was nothing near the tortuous experience I had believed it to be. I knew true torture now. Instead, I worried for my students, my kids, knowing that they would soon be sent to battlefronts all over the world. I could remember the taste of Johnny's cheesecakes. I could remember long nights sitting by the radio as he listened to the latest news. My legs would always be thrown over the arm of the chair, a book resting in my lap as I, too, listened. Home. Another home was inaccessible to me now.

TO JOHN. NOT COMING HOME SOON. ARE YOU ALRIGHT? I MISS YOU. STAY SAFE. LOVE YOU.

Sitting back, I let my head rest on the back of the chair.

When I was eighteen, my brother got his driver's license. My sister and I had planned a surprise for him. One that he would never forget. We had been working part-time jobs throughout the summer and saved up enough to give Corey a down payment for a truck. After school, we dragged him away from his friends to a small parking lot outside of a convenience store. The pavement was broken and potholes spotted the space. Gravel was constantly being thrown into the air by cars speeding around the corner. In the corner of that parking lot was an old Ford pickup.

Corey was so ecstatic when he saw it. My little brother was practically glowing as he clambered up into the driver's seat. His hands grazed over every space appreciatively. I could remember the almost overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke from the previous owner wafting into the humid air outside the cab.

He and I went mudding in that truck, something that Corey had been wanting to do for years. My little car would have never survived the first lake of mud, but his truck was game for it. We whooped and hollered for hours, laughing at how filthy his truck was getting with the thick brown Tennessee mud coating nearly every surface.

"We should probably head home," I said once it started to get dark. "Mom's already gonna kill us."

"Live a little bit," Corey shouted over radio, which was blasting out the riffs to 'Turn the Page' from the classic rock station. With how joyful my brother was, I couldn't possibly tell him to stop and turn the truck around. I sighed. The trials of an older sister. "One more run through, Shell! C'mon! One more for the road! Mud up to the roof this time! C'mon, Shell!"

Waving him off, we started through the road of mud one more time.

_There I go. Turn the page._

And then, we weren't moving anymore.

"No!" Corey shouted, pressing the gas even harder. I felt us sink further into the mud. "No, no, no!" The engine revved and revved, but we never moved. At the time, I felt panicked. We were due back home by seven. Virtually no one knew where we were, out in the thicket of forests that covered the Tennessee countryside. Our cells didn't even get coverage this far into the Tennessee backwoods. "What? What do we do? Shell, what do we do?"

"Stop pressing the gas!" I reached forward and twisted the volume down to a tolerable level. "You're sinking us further! Stop pressing the gas!"

The engine idled as he removed his foot. "Not my new truck! Not my truck! This never happens to Reggie!" The whine in my brother's voice was so characteristic of his sixteen year old self. His voice used to be so high pitched. He looked to me with panic in his eyes. "What do we do? Mom's gonna kill us."

"I'm more worried about being stuck out here," I replied. Instead of just sitting in the truck and waiting for some miracle to happen, I reached to the side and threw my door open. When my weight hit the mud below, I sank by a few inches. "Stay in there, Corey. I'll look at how bad we're in it. We'll go from there." He pressed the gas and spun the tires, sinking them further into the mud. Bits of wet red dirt were thrown up onto my jeans and blouse. "Corey! Don't press the gas!"

Being an obnoxious brother, he grinned at me. "Sorry, sis."

We were well and truly stuck. Without a tow or a chain, there was no way we could get out of that mess. Over the trees, the blueness of the summer sun was turning purple. The sun was visible through the trees, falling quickly to the west. Our situation was about a dire as it could get for a couple middle-class kids from Nashville. At the time, when I was that young, it seemed like the world was ending. It was the biggest panic and fear I had felt since Dad died. It was the biggest sense of uselessness I felt until I started teaching. At the time, it was so huge that I couldn't fathom the repercussions.

As I sat in the radio office, drifting into sleep, I felt the tires spinning again. I could see the mud being flung in all directions. Blood was mixed with the mud. Every time the gas was pressed and I attempted to exert some control on the situation, the tires would sink deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper.

Down the stairs.

Down the hall.

Until you're in a dungeon.

And it's dark.

And you're alone.

" _You will, Dr. Daniels."_

Blood…

Boom!

The door slammed open with a loud bang and I flew upright, hand gripping at my chest. I sucked in a breath, fear causing my heart to begin thundering in my ears. I looked to the doorway, blinking the sleep from my eyes. For a moment, I couldn't comprehend what was happening. America stood there, eyes wide and chest heaving. He looked terrified. I felt my own terror escalate, echoes of the dream reverberating in my head. I must have fallen asleep.

Before I could say anything, Alfred rushed forward and threw his arms around my shoulders, leaning down to pull me into a vehement hug. I could feel water on his jacket and it was still chilled from being outside. Why did he go outside? I still couldn't quite catch up to the events. Still sleepy. "You're okay. Thank God…you're okay." He continued muttering this into my hair, running his hand down the length of my hair before raising the hand to repeat the action from my scalp again. "You're okay. I was…Nah, it's okay. You're okay. Oh man."

"America?"

He released me and sank down to his haunches next to me. His bright blue eyes looked up to me with worry and relief. "You're safe."

"Of course I am. W-What happened? Are you alright?"

Another figure appeared in my peripheral vision and I turned to see Britain standing in the doorway. His chest was also heaving. Upon seeing me, he let out a breath and leaned into the doorframe. "Oh, bloody hell. I'm too old for this."

Confused by his apparent relief, I questioned again. "What happened?"

"You were _supposed_ to be in the study or your room! You weren't there! We searched everywhere for the past twenty minutes! We feared the worst! We thought you had been taken again. America was going crazy searching for you! Shouting all over the estate! You irresponsible bint! What in—" Britain shouted and the whole house seemed to shake. "What in _the world_ were you thinking? What are you doing in here?"

"She was asleep, Britain. She probably couldn't hear us yelling." America pressed his hand to the side of my face and I felt my brows pull together in question. I had never seen America look so troubled before—outside of our private conversations. "Shelly, I'm so glad you're alright. I thought…I thought they had taken you again." He patted my cheek, withdrew his hand, and smiled.

"Ah, she is found. Good." I glanced toward the doorway to find Russia standing behind Britain, a serene smile on his face. He, unlike the others, didn't look winded at all. There was a concerned glint in his eyes though. "I knew they did not steal her away. It would have been foolish with us all present."

"You see? She's troublesome. This is why I think it good to send her back." China's voice said from the hall.

I glanced back to America, wanting to keep my emotions in check. "You're sending me home, then?"

"Straight to the point as usual," Britain muttered. "Allow us all a moment to breathe, will you?"

Just then, the SIGBA began to emit screeching noises as the gears began to move. It was the first time I had ever watched a message actually come through the system. A small slip of paper was pushed out of a small slot to the lower left side of the large machine. Random letters and numbers were written in type-font there. When it finished, the entire house seemed to go silent. I reached forward to take the paper, looking over the jumbled mess of words.

America reached forward to take it, glancing over the slip for a few moments. "Meh. Don't wanna. Hey, Canadia! Feel like codebreaking?" Almost out of nowhere, Matthew appeared. He shot me a small smile before taking the piece of paper and retreating to the far corner desk. "You messaged John?"

"Sorry," I responded immediately. "I…I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's okay."

"No, it most certainly is not. This is not a toy!" Britain retorted. "Don't treat it as such!"

"I'm a grown woman, Arthur. Not a child or a teen. I'm _physically_ older than _you_. I know that piece of equipment is very valuable and you know that I would in no way endanger it." He harrumphed and crossed his arms, conceding my point. It seemed my short disappearance had affected him as well if he was giving up so easily. There was no doubt in my mind that Arthur cared. That much was clear in his reaction. Though, I guessed that a majority of his concern stemmed from Alfred's closeness to the situation (i.e. me). "You thought I was abducted?"

"Yeah, we got really worried. I mean, your window was open upstairs and your cane—"

"My window was _what_?" A chill ran down my spine.

No! It couldn't be...

"You're window was…Oh shit! You're kidding."

"Her window was open, America?" Britain questioned, pushing himself off the doorframe. Russia took a small step into the room and China followed suit until that small radio room felt crowded. I could see Britain's gaze hardening into a military stare. "Explain."

"Well, I got up there and the south-facing window was wide open. Rain was coming in, so I closed it before yelling to you guys. I thought she was abducted. What did you want me to do? Run through every detail then and there?"

"Well, that would have been helpful." Britain retorted. "So…We're left to assume that they were here. In _my_ home." Growling, Arthur thrust out his right hand and slammed it into the wall. "Damn it!"

Whereas before that sudden action might've made me jump in fright, it didn't phase me at the moment. They had come for me again. They knew exactly where I was, who I was with, and yet they had made another attempt to gain my knowledge. Without realizing it, I started quivering. A hand came to rest solidly on my shoulder and America shook his head. _Don't freak out._ Right. I had to stay calm.

Calm...Just breathe.

"They know the comrade is here," Russia surmised aloud. "This is big problem."

"A decision has already been made. Don't you think we should stick to it? I mean, at this point, it only make sense. What does it matter if they know?"

"It matters because they'll try again!"

"Michelle," Matthew's voice caught my attention and I turned to see a slip of paper being held out to me. I forced a grateful smile and took it, looking down at his elegant handwriting. "You should probably respond before he steals a plane and flies over the Atlantic."

_I'm fine, doll face. Not coming home soon? Or not coming home at all? Can't have that. If this is your way of saying goodbye, you need a refresher course in manners. The guys are making their call, right? Respond with their decision so I know who to maim next time they visit their consulate. Love you. Got some cheesecake and pizza waiting on your homecoming._

_Respond fast or I'll come find out myself._

Turning in my chair, I began to type away at the keys. New York…No, I needed New York to stay out of this. If he became more involved, he would be put into danger just like everyone else.

And I couldn't have that.

I wouldn't.

No one else was going to be placed in harm's way for my sake.

Least of all Johnny.

No. I wouldn't allow it.

"What was your decision, Nations? I have to stop New York from running over here."

There was a moment of stunned silence before China spoke up. "We plan to use Norway's magic to return you to your world."

I nodded and began typing, accepting the decision easily. "What is the timeframe, China?"

"Within the next two weeks," China answered again in a very clinical voice. That's what I needed at the moment. Someone who could give me direction and answers without being overly emotional about it. Straight facts. That's what I needed. "Two weeks from tomorrow."

Nodding again, I continued to type out my response to New York. I kept my emotions pushed aside, hiding them in a box of my mind to be opened later (when I could mourn in private). I needed to remain detached and professional. "Alright. New York should remain relatively calm for the next week or so. I told him that the timeline was four weeks or more. By the time he realizes, it'll be too late."

"Why—"

"John will try to stop me," I cut off America before he could finish. Brushing a hand over my face, I sat back and glanced toward the Nations. Each reaction was different.

Britain still looked angry, most likely still reeling from the fact that his home had been invaded. He wouldn't get over that for some time yet, I suspected. Russia looked over me with a note of concern, but his smile remained firmly in place. There was a flash of something there—pain, perhaps?—in his eyes as well. Most likely, it was stemming from the sieges that were currently underway in Moscow and Leningrad. China looked smug, but respectful. Maybe my calm acceptance had earned some points with him, but I really didn't care. I wasn't aiming to impress the Asian Nation.

Canada sent me a small nod, accepting everything as it stood. It was America, however, that caught my attention.

He continued to kneel next to me, head tilted down so I couldn't see his expression. He was shaking though, so much that I could feel the chair vibrating. It was pent up anger, I could tell. Gently, very gently, I placed my hand on his shoulder. Alfred lifted his head and I could see steel in his eyes. "You want to go back, right?"

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. "I do. I want to go home."

" _I'm_ your home," he responded immediately. "New York's home. We're home. It's dangerous, Shelly. If the magic Norway has backfires like Britain's, you could be killed."

"It would be even more dangerous to stay in this world. For everyone. While I'm here, things are going to keep going downhill. I've accepted that I have to return to my world. It's for the best. You know it is, too. You need to accept this, America. I… can't stay forever, _regardless_." I squeezed his shoulder and set him a small smile. My reference to my ultimate mortality did not go unnoticed by the present Nations. Britain shot me a surprised look while Russia actually scowled in my direction. It warmed my heart just a bit. "This will be for the best. Frankly, I'm glad that you all decided. Now, we can proceed with a plan of action instead of just sitting around waiting." Looking toward where Britain was still fuming, I decided to bridge the gap that existed between us. "Arthur."

Britain's glare snapped to me. "What?"

"Do you have any scones in the kitchen? I'm hungry and I have the taste for tea."

For a moment, he continued to glare. Then, ever-so slightly his scowl softened. He saw that I was trying to make amends for whatever rift had come between us. Even if it was mostly _his_ ill-nature that had prevented me from befriending him. He knew that as well as I did by this point. Still, I didn't want to have bad terms with him. Especially since I was due to leave or die soon. So, I decided to forsake my pride. "Of course, dear. Come along then. Let's get you some food."

"Dude! You're gonna eat his crappy scones?" Shooting America a quelling look, he held up both hands and shrugged. "Yeah, fine. Whatever."

I pocketed the message from New York and stood from the chair, shocked to find Britain stalking toward me. He held out a courteous arm, like a true gentleman, and nodded his head. Seeing the gesture for what it was (an aid in the place of my cane, even if I barely needed it any longer), I took his proffered arm and walked in tandem with him from the radio room. The remaining Nations stayed behind, all looking to each other for some kind of answer or order. None came and they remained silent, each looking to the next.

Arthur's hold on my hand tightened as we stepped into the main house. "Damn them! Those bastards. My own home." I said nothing return, but instead patted his hand in a show of silent support. My words would do nothing to ease his anger, so I didn't bother to try. "They'll never get you, Michelle. I won't allow it. None of us will. You have my word. They can never have you." The way it was growled out—sounding as if he were an angry king or warrior bent on defense—I believed him.

Still, I couldn't stop the thrill of fear that raced through my chest.

They'd come for me.

I always knew they would.

Some part of me wondered if Germany had known my location all along.

It was possible.

Soon enough though, I wouldn't have to worry about Prussia or Spain coming for me in the dead of night. I would be home. I would be able to see my brother—my Corey and go mudding again. I would see my family. Momma and my Donna. My friends. Everything that was mine would be mine again. I would be there. I would be home. I would be able to drive down the roads of Missouri and see the sun setting behind the low rolling hills. Soon. Soon.

Therefore, I couldn't hold onto my fear. I had to let it go and focus on the productive things: figuring out the changes in time and trying to fix my mistakes in this alternate world. I couldn't waste time in wondering when they would come again. I couldn't waste precious time in fearing.

So, late that night, I wasted no pages in my journal bemoaning how scared I was of being taken again. No ink was used on self-pity or denial.

Instead, I flicked to another sheet of off-white paper and began mapping the changes in historical events I had noted from start to finish. In chronological order. Bits and pieces of newspapers were scattered around me as reference material, harkening back to my days in graduate school. My pen scratched against the paper while America snoozed away in the leather sitting chair of the study, determined to keep me safe from the thieves that threatened to steal me away. I glanced to him and made a small note of the scene on the corner of a particular crinkled page.

_America's asleep. Glasses gone. He looks like a kid. I'll always remember him like this. Peaceful with his dreams. No worries about the war. Just him and that inaccurate leather jacket draped over his chest. Remember him, Michelle. When you're back home, remember this. When you're old and gray, remember this. Remember them._

Turn the page.


	23. Unraveled

" _Nothing in life is to be feared, it is only to be understood. Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less."_ – Marie Curie

"You do not care if you are sent back?"

I turned to Arthur. It had been two days since the Nations had reached their decision. Ultimately, we were no closer to getting me home than ever before. It seemed that we (the Nations, really) were stuck in a strategic and logistic nightmare. Norway was so far behind enemy lines that it was almost pointless to attempt retrieval. Furthermore, there was no excuse to raid Germany's home with so little provocation. Homes, as I learned, were off-limits in international events unless the Nation has been invaded or occupied. It explained why Arthur had gotten so upset at the presence of the would-be kidnappers. Their presence at and in his home was a metaphor for an invasion. Sighing, I tried to put my feelings on the subject into words. "I care. I don't want you all to think that I'm heartless. I'll miss people here, but… Well, I have family waiting on me. Anyway, my continued presence is messing up history. If I stay, the butterfly effect will worsen."

"This is why you refused to make your knowledge known from the start, correct? To avoid a shift in power. To keep us from a disadvantage?" He sat on the other side of the table, gently sipping at his steaming tea. He had just returned from a meeting with Russia. It seemed that Ukraine had been badly injured when Kharkov, a particularly important mining and industry town within her borders, was overrun by the German forces. She had fallen back to Sevastopol with her forces and was secure there for the time-being.

Vaguely drawing my finger over the rough wood of the age-old table, I thought over my answer. Was it best to be completely honest with him? "There was no telling how the shift would occur; only that it would."

I glanced back over my shoulder to see that Russia and China were standing in the hallway, speaking in hushed tones. Russia looked frightening. His eyes almost seemed alight with anger and frustration. His worry for Ukraine was overcoming all else in his mind and I had to admit myself impressed. This was on a completely different scale, of course, but I could remember some stupid guy hitting my brother at lunch one day in high school. Even if I was rather slow to anger, if someone messed with my siblings…Well, let's just say that punches were thrown and leave it at that. It was the reason why I gained a fairly stable right hook. Russia looked as if he wanted to bomb the hell out of anyone that came near what was his.

Blinking, I tried to rid myself of the image before Britain could see my panic. Still it wouldn't go away, just like usual. Russia stood alone, calm and collected. There was just the barest hint of crazed anger in his eyes. He was muttering something to the empty space, readying his pipe cane for an attack. My heart thundered in my chest, wishing that I would stop seeing these visions.

"— _won't give you a choice. It is okay. I won't give you time to have any regrets either."_

Like a rubber-band snapping, the hall returned to normal and Russia nodded his head to China before moving away into the shadows. China turned to look at me and gave me the barest hint of a bow before following after the large Nation. Stunned at his show of politeness and respect, I turned back around to face Arthur. He hadn't noticed a thing, busying himself with reading the paper.

"And so it has," Britain sighed at last. He gestured toward the paper and shook his head. "Not exactly good for morale." I read the headline: _Operation Crusader Thwarted_. Well and truly, it seemed. With the falls of Egypt and Syria as well as the continued hold of Algeria, the Axis powers held much of the North African front.

"It was my own weakness that caused all this. My own inability to cope." Arthur glanced up from the paper to look at me, large brows pulling together in question. I smiled sadly and shook my head. "You were right. The blood _is_ on my hands and it's something that I have to live with. My inaction caused millions to lose their lives."

"I was what? Blood on your hands? You can't honestly think—"

"Because of that, my guilt, I divulged secrets of the future. I should have kept my silence. Now look what my weakness has caused."

"You divulged secrets of the future?" His tone was slow, methodical. I lifted my eyes from my hands to find him staring at nothing on the tabletop. My head nodded in acknowledgement. Of course I did. Why did he sound so uncertain? Surely America had at least _told_ him about the letter. "Wait. Wait just a tick." He glanced up to me with hard, cold eyes. I felt tenseness creep up my spine as he stared in my direction. "You _told_ someone future secrets? You _refused_ to give away anything before! When did this happen? To whom did you divulge those secrets? What in Heaven's name provoked you to do so? Do you know what you could have done? What you have done?"

Confused, I pulled my brows together and gestured toward him. "You. I gave those events to you and the other Allies. Written in a list, all of the worst events of 1941. I gave them to you all."

His arms crossed and his head shook. "No. No, I believe I would remember if we were given intel on future events."

Everything in my abdomen dropped. A nervously sick feeling—like a thousand cranes flapping their huge wings—was released in my gut. Everything seemed to tunnel to Britain's contorted face. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be. I couldn't handle anything more. I was already near the breaking point as it were. Now…this.

"W-What? Y-You never…Never got the letter? Didn't America—"

"What bloody letter? You keep talking about a letter and I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about. No, America hasn't mentioned any—"

Panic ripped through my body, awaking nearly every cell. I felt my fingers begin to tingle as I stopped breathing. It couldn't be. It couldn't be that—Shooting up from my chair, I ignored Britain's angry and worried yell as I ran from the kitchen. I could hear the distant sound of china breaking, which likely meant that I had somehow knocked the teacup from the table in my haste.

My pace was inhibited a little by my pronounced limp (it was far worse with greater speed) and I began to hyperventilate. In and out. In, out. How could this happen? Was there nothing that would go as it was meant to in this world? Would there never be a moment of peace? I turned the corner into the annex hallway. Canada and America were speaking there. America nodding his head rapidly as he agreed with something Matthew had said. I slowed to a stop before deciding that the hazard of making everyone aware of the letter was now worth it. I needed to know. I had to know.

Did America receive the letter I had left the night before my kidnapping? Had he merely kept it a secret from the other Nations? What in the world was going on?

"America!"

His head whipped around and worry entered his cobalt eyes. "Shelly? Shelly, what's wrong?"

"The letter," I said hurriedly, "did you ever receive it?"

"Letter? What letter?"

My feet stopped and my body froze in place.

The letter had been sitting on my nightstand when I was abducted. It had been addressed to two people. Alfred and Johnny. They were the extent of my world back then. I trusted both of them enough to give them information on future events. Back then, my mind was so frayed that I thought my only way to sanity would be to get the blood off my hands. In hindsight, witnessing the fall of Egypt, it was my fatal mistake. It was my character flaw. It was my weakness that cost one of the people I cared for most. Cost him everything. Cost him the freedom he longed to have. In my own weakness and desire to make myself clean of blood, I had unintentionally made the blood more plentiful and more real. Egypt and Syria had paid the price for my arrogance and guilt. I sucked in a desperate breath and stumbled to the side, slamming into the wall.

"What's wrong with her?"

"You never got the letter?" America rushed up to my side and I could feel a hand on my shoulder from behind. Not particularly focusing on anything, I turned to America and prayed that he was simply forgetting. Or, that he was playing the fool.

"Shelly, I really don't know what letter you're talkin' about!"

Taking a deep breath, I tried to gain some control over myself. I couldn't—I couldn't lose it like this. I had to think this through. I had to be rational. I had to. Glancing over to Canada's worried face, I knew that I had to pull myself together. My loss of control was going to cause a ripple effect. These people cared for me and they honestly didn't have time to worry about some emotionally unstable mess. I thought of all this as I stared at Canada. And, really, I couldn't say what made him do it, but in the next instant, Matthew was at my side. America backed away with his hands up, as if Matthew had swatted him away. He moved to stand with Britain, looking utterly bewildered.

"What do you need?"

Another deep breath. Keep it together, Michelle. You're stronger than this.

Canada was taking charge. "Michelle, you need to tell me. What do you need?"

Locking eyes with him, I saw the leader he always was. Gratefulness welled in my gut. He was putting aside his meekness for me and I would forever appreciate it. He seemed to sense that I needed someone to be a rock at this point. He was willing to be that constant force while I got my bearings. My mind whirled in many different directions before I settled on a course of action. "Gotta calm down." I reached out and took hold of Canada's shoulder for something to hold me down. I started to breathe in tandem with the rise and fall of his shoulders, which he was making deliberately dramatic to help me gain control.

"No kidding," America muttered. I heard a pained 'oof' sound which signaled that he had been elbowed in the gut by Britain. "Shell, what the hell is going on?"

My head shook, "I don't know." Eyes narrowing and my back straightening, I let out a large sigh. Everything was becoming clearer and more defined. My panic attack was fading. "I don't know, but I intend to find out." Glancing to Canada, I nodded my head toward him. "Matt, will you help me? I need to get in touch with a brother of mine ASAP. There's only one explanation for it all. I just hope I'm wrong." Raising myself to my full height, I pushed away every emotion that was ripping through my chest.

_Betrayal…_

"We need to get New York over here. _Now."_

"New York?" America repeated in a curious tone. "All of that was about New York? What—You got something to tell me, Michelle?" There was another 'oof' sound and I turned to see America doubled-over. "Try that again, Britain. See what happens." He stood up and looked at me with that glint: that glint that told me he was now a member of my family. "What's up with you and New York?"

My head shook. "America, I need you to trust me. More than ever—Right now, that's what I need."

He considered me for a moment, all false bravado slipping away. Britain looked between the two of us before crossing his arms and Canada's reached out to hold my elbow for fear I would pass out or something. Finally, America nodded his head. "I trust you, Shelly. Always will."

Nodding my head determinedly, I glanced to Canada. "I need your help, Matt."

When Johnny arrived, it was nearly midnight the next day. I had spent a majority of that time pouring over the changes made to the current history. It took hours and hours of note-taking in my leather-bound journal. So far as I could count, there were thirteen different instances of "changed history," starting with the British victory at Halfaya Pass. All of the subsequent changes on the African front butterflied out from that _single change_. The falls of Egypt and Syria were directly connected to the British triumph in Libya. It seemed that a majority of the historical changes were limited to the North African battlefront. Which, sadly, was the front I knew the least about.

If it had been anything about the Eastern and Western fronts or the Pacific theatres of the war, then I would have been able to pinpoint the changes with more ease.

As it stood, there was quite a large margin for error. My error. Even so, I could pinpoint the changes down to two disconnected occurrences: Halfaya Pass and Leningrad. Though, it appeared the evacuation of Leningrad had _not_ affected the war in any major way. Mostly, it was civilians who were spared. Ultimately, there was no telling what changes would ripple out from that one change the way Halfaya had sent ripple effects all across the Mediterranean. It was only a matter of time before those alterations in the timeline were made known as well.

"He's here," a voice told me. I turned slightly to see Matthew standing in the doorway. Nodding my head, I sat my pen down and stood, stretching my arms over my head. "Y-You're not mad at him, are you?"

My lips pursed as I glanced over toward his concerned face. "Not as angry as I believe you're expecting. It's less anger and more something else."

"You know…New York isn't the type to hurt someone without intention. Whatever he did, he did for a reason."

I hadn't explained to anyone more than what they already knew. My suspicions that New York had kept the letter containing information about the future. They could, however, tell how I was feeling about the matter. My cloistering into the study was a pretty forward hint, I'm sure. And the fact that I wouldn't eat or drink anything save for toast and tea.

Smiling slightly, I rested a hand on Canada's shoulder and nodded. "I know that. John's a good man. I just need to understand a few things. That's all. Nothing more than that." Matthew gave me a small smile in understanding, though I wasn't sure if he understood exactly what my emotions were at the moment.

Not even I understood what I was feeling.

On the one hand, I was angry.

On the other, I was thankful.

Angry because I had spent countless hours thinking about how much I regretted giving that letter to the Allies. Regretting how weak I was in writing it and how I should have just kept that information to myself. I spent countless darkened hours worrying over the extra information that the letter possessed. Only to find out that it was going through a filter the entire time. That New York was playing with the information like a game of Risk. I couldn't even fathom out my thoughts on the matter, if was so vastly complicated. I felt…I felt…used. And betrayed. And hurt. Very hurt. And yet, I couldn't pinpoint exactly _why_.

Then, I was thankful. Thankful that he had kept the information away from the Allies. My mind whirled with the possibilities. What if the changes had been even worse with the disclosure of the full letter? What if things whirled out of control with the change of one other item on that list? Perhaps that was why New York kept it to himself. Maybe that was why he never spoke of it or gave out more information than was necessary. I could see it. Johnny wasn't unreasonable. He didn't do things without thought. He likely kept it safe for the sake of everyone else, to keep the butterfly effect from getting out of control. From that point of view, I was thankful. Thankful that he had covered for my mistakes.

All of that flew out of the window when I saw him.

He was speaking with America while shaking hands with China, who appeared actually happy with seeing him. His clothes were different. There was no fedora on his head and his usual suit was missing. Instead, he wore a uniform similar to America's, minus the leather jacket. A pair of aviator sunglasses sat atop his head as he sent Alfred a large grin.

Angry or thankful, I was just happy to see him again. My forward motion stopped and I went still at the bottom of the stairs, gripping my cane as hard as I could to release my nerves.

America jerked his head in my direction and New York turned.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

It reminded me of how America had reacted at the docks. His mouth was closed though and Johnny simply stared in my direction. My heart thundered in my chest, picking up speed with every second we stared at each other. He was already pissed. I could tell by the tick in his jaw muscle. His gaze shifted down to my legs and the cane. I shifted self-consciously and New York raised his eyes to mine again.

This meeting wasn't…what I was expecting. Some part of me, however small, wanted John to just ignore my infirmities. Some part of me wanted him to see me as I used to be. Instead, he was looking at me in the same way the Nations did: with sympathy and pity. At this point, I didn't even feel irritation. Maybe I was something to be pitied. From their eyes, maybe all I represented was the frailty of their people. I was symbolic to them, of everything they might gain or lose in a single day. A human life that was too fragile to be around Nations for extended times without suffering for it.

New York let out a low growl. The sound was almost animalistic. "I'll kill 'em."

A thrill of adrenaline rushed through my veins and I took a step forward. "I'm fine, John. Leave it be."

He hesitated for a moment before seeming to overcome his aversion to my appearance. Johnny moved faster than I had ever seen him move before, surging toward me with his arms held out. I acted on instinct and threw my arms around his neck, gasping in surprise when he pulled me off my feet and held me to him. It was a reassuring hug, full of anticipation. I had missed him so much over the past few months that I could barely keep the tears from my eyes as I buried my face into the crook of his shoulder. He smelled just like always: a mixture of aftershave and peppermint. He was everything familiar and I held him tighter, desperate for that feeling of security. My anger was overcome by my love for him.

"Don't care what that jackass did," he muttered into my shoulder. "He'll get his for hurting you."

I smiled into his uniform, hoping that my tears were hidden from the others.

Someone cleared their throat and I jumped as Johnny loosened his hold. He didn't release me entirely though, still keeping a protective arm around my shoulder as we faced the staring Nations. America didn't look at all surprised by our closeness. He just grinned and strode over, clapping New York on the shoulder. At the same time, he cupped a hand on my cheek and nodded. Looking at it a little different, our whole exchange was that of a close family. Amazingly enough Alfred seemed to be taking on the fatherly/older brother role.

"Americans…" Britain scoffed. "You have no sense of propriety."

"Sure we do," New York retorted. "A lot of us just don't stand on formality when it comes to family." He looked around to me again and brushed a hand over my hair. "Your coworkers miss you. Edith came by the other day to ask after you. I told her you're overseas working as a nurse." I opened my mouth to respond to that and he cut me off. "Yeah, I know you're not." I tried to speak again and he repeated the same action, interrupting me. "Well, of course. I couldn't tell them you were abducted by Prussia and Spain. Now, _that_ would go over well. Not that I can believe those two pulled it off. Delaware swears up and down that Spain was bleeding when he saw him." I grimaced at the memory of the baseball bat and the crack of bone.

I was surprised by his usage of the Nation names in front of me though. I glanced toward America—who had just started to innocently whistle under his breath. My arms crossed over my chest and that was really all it took to make the man crack. He gave me a pleading look before letting out a whine. "I had to tell him, Shelly! I didn't explain everything. Just that you knew! Is that so bad?" My expression didn't change, but he seemed to sense a shift in my demeanor. "New York deserved to know."

"Now _all_ the other States are going to know," I responded. New York scratched at the back of his head, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. I knew I was right. New York couldn't keep this kind of thing a secret. "We both know that Johnny—" I sent my elbow back into his abdomen while he let out a pained 'oof.' Just like America. "—can't keep a secret unless it has to do with the mob!"

"Screw you! I can keep secrets. I kept you, remember? You're pretty much a secret embodied, doll face!"

"You're the one to talk about embodiment!" I retorted. "You embody an entire State." Quelling my irritation, I took a deep breath and then released it slowly. "Anyway, you're not here so we can argue." John straightened his posture then, shifting from his playful human persona to the one-hundred-something year old State he actually was. "You _kept_ the letter, right?"

"Perhaps we should move this to the meeting room," Britain spoke up.

"Why? She can hit him here just as easily, _da_?"

America and New York actually snorted, shaking their heads in unison. I just looked on with as little emotion as possible, keeping on a professional persona while I still could. I slipped myself from under New York's arm. My own arms remained crossed. It was Alfred that refuted Russia's question. "Nope. She ain't gonna hit him. Shelly can't harm a fly."

Just to prove my point and not be overlooked, I stood a little straighter. "I hit Spain with a baseball bat. Cracked his skull." The Nations froze and turned to stare at me. As soon as I realized what I had said, I lowered my gaze to the ground and decided to backtrack a bit. It was highly possible that, despite times of war, that Spain was still a good friend to some of these—A laugh brought my attention back up. All attention in the hallway turned toward Britain.

He laughed (and there was something akin to triumph in the lilt of his amusement). "You—You did what now? Hit him with a baseball bat? He's never living that down! Good on you, Michelle."

Well, that certainly had the opposite effect of what was intended. "You're _amused_ that I hit him?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" Arthur responded gleefully. Oh, right. Britain and Spain had a rivalry dating back hundreds of years. _Of course_ Arthur would be joyful at seeing Antonio dealt some timeless embarrassment. All of the other Nations present however, just stared in wonder at our exchange.

"So much for Michelle never hurting a fly, huh?"

"I knew she not as weak as she look," Russia gave me a supportive smile while I saw China look away for a moment. I liked to imagine that he was hiding a smile.

"She hurt _Spain_. You know, I still feel pretty safe." New York retorted and started to throw his arm over my shoulder again. He glanced toward me and grimaced. Maybe I was glaring or had a stern expression on my face because he immediately backtracked and stopped the movement. "On second thought, let's take this to the meeting room." He patted my arm and gave America look that I couldn't quite decipher. "Hey, Iggy, you got any of those tasty crumpets? Or stones? Or scones? Or packing peanuts? Or whatever the hell you call 'em?" He hooked his hands into his pockets, shot me a smile, and started down the hallway with his usual amount of confident swagger.

In an instant, Britain's former good humor was gone. He was stalking after New York just seconds later, growling under his breath. America gave a bark of laughter and took off after the two, yelling something about Arthur's scones being made out of couch stuffing.

"Comrade New York is interesting," Russia commented.

"He always like that." China sighed, rubbing his forehead. "We have no time for this."

Canada just shook his head, looking about as tired as I felt. Johnny was an exhausting person by nature, so it made some sense. Add on top of that the fact that I anticipated him being extremely difficult in the upcoming questioning…it made for one very long night.

When we arrived in the meeting room, Arthur and Alfred had taken up posts at the far corner. They were conversing between themselves. America shook his head repeatedly, raising his hands in a placating gesture. It seemed that another argument was underway, if not fully ignited. At the table, John sat with his arms crossed and his feet up on the table. China froze at the sight and began to open his mouth to begin a rant. I interceded before that could happen. I moved forward with a quickness no one could have attributed to me and slapped his feet off the edge. He surged forward due to the new imbalance in weight.

"You should've told me!" My words weren't shouted or even very loud, they were soft and nearly a whisper. That seemed even worse than if I had shouted the entire house down. John grimaced as the door to the room was pulled shut behind Russia. "You should have—"

"How?" New York questioned. "How could I tell you that I kept the letter, huh? Through radio? No. My way was best, whether you want to admit it or not."

"Best or worst isn't the issue here," I responded. "My personal opinions regarding your hoarding of the letter aren't relevant. What matters is how and how much."

"So the _why_ doesn't matter?" Johnny wondered with a critical look. His arms crossed over his chest and he gave me an unyielding once over. "Doesn't the why always matter? You told me that once. That the why was always the most important part of any situation."

My head shook, wishing that I could reclaim that world view. Now, it seemed that the why was a pointless venture. _Why_ did all of this happen to me?

 _Why_ did all those people have to die?

 _Why_ couldn't the world just live in peace? _Why war._

_Why terror._

_Why me. Why Egypt. Syria. Why. Why. Why._

Considering the reasons would take a lifetime. I just didn't have that amount of time. Instead, what I needed was the facts—something I could deal well with. Facts. Cold and hard. Something to grasp and work from. "In this case, I don't care why you kept the letter. What I need to know is how you gave the information, when you gave the information, and what information you have already given."

From the way his eyes glanced around to the various Nations present, I knew then that he had kept things from the letter to himself. That meant that the present Nations were currently unaware of future events. Mouth opening in shock, I raised my eyebrows at him in question. New York merely nodded his head. My mouth snapped closed and I nodded resolutely. "Nations, would you mind leaving John and I alone for a few minutes?"

"John and me," Britain corrected. "And what the bloody hell for?"

I raised my chin and put on the most confident air I could. "Britain, I want to find a way to resolve all this or at least figure out how to stop the historical changes from continuing. I can't do that unless I have all the information. I need to speak with him alone if I'm to have any hope of figuring this out."

"I don't—"

"Alright, we'll leave." Russia cheerfully said. I glanced over to see him beaming in my direction. "If Comrade Michelle wishes for us to leave, then we will leave." He gestured for China to move in front of him and he cast a look back toward the other half of the Allies. "You come, da?" There was no request in his tone, just a firm command.

America stiffened while Britain started to argue. It was Canada that made them both fall in line, surprising as it was for the two stubborn Allies. Matthew stepped forward, voice calm and reassuring. "I-I think we should trust her. She would never…put us in harm's way." He sent me a supportive smile before starting toward the door.

Alfred considered me for a moment before nodding in my direction. "Okay, alright. I'm goin'. New York, tell her everything she needs to know." He paused and considered us for a moment. "John, do I need to make that an order?"

I glanced between the two, sensing the underlying tension between the Nation and lesser State. My hands rose in a placating motion. "That won't be necessary. We're just going to talk. Nothing more. I don't want him under orders." America gave me a single nod before disappearing.

"It'd be easier for all of us," Britain muttered as he stalked out of the room. After him, the door snapped shut.

We held ourselves in silence for the longest time, until I walked to the table and sat down. I rested my cane at the edge of the table, watching as Johnny glared at the offending object as if it had been the one to inflict the damages. My tone was conversational when I spoke up. "Germany didn't mean for my wound to get infected. I doubt he thought much of it, to be honest."

"He could've _killed_ you by neglect alone! Stop being so damn forgiving!"

"I'm not forgiving it!" I responded a bit louder than I anticipated. "I'm just being logical! That doesn't equate to forgiveness. I don't have the mentality for that. I can't forgive him for any of this. I can't. Not right now. Not so soon after—" Why did New York always bring out this in me? Even back when I was lonesome, he brought out my emotions then as well, no matter how much I tried to hide them. Now, he could read me better than almost anyone. My hands curled into fists on the table. He looked satisfied that he had gotten a rise out of me so quickly. "John, please. That's not what you're here to talk about."

He snorted, "You've got another thing comin' if you think we're not talking about it. You've probably kept your mouth shut about it and haven't told anyone what happened."

"John, I'm being serious right now—"

"So am I."

Sighing, I just gave into his demands. I clearly wasn't going to get any answers out of him until he got some answers out of me. "Fine. Just answer my questions and then I'll answer yours. Does that sound fair?"

He seemed to consider the exchange for a few minutes before nodding. "Fire away."

"Where is the letter now?"

I tried to set aside everything and take on the persona I often took during student conferences, like I was trying to lead someone into discovery or trying to be as helpful as possible. When, in actuality, I was simply seeking information. It wasn't the smartest tactic I'd ever chosen, but my conferences back home had always been somewhat successful while I had never participated in anything akin to an interrogation before (not that this was even close to an interrogation). Really, I didn't know how to feel about the whole situation.

"Is it safe, New York?"

"Safer than us," he responded. "It's secure." He leaned back and propped one leg atop his knee. "I found your letter the morning after you were taken. I read it once before sticking it in the safest place I could think of. No one knows of its whereabouts but me." That settled my fears a bit. At least there wasn't a mass of future information just floating around somewhere. "I mentioned to Arthur that he should be more careful in Africa. That I had traveled through the region before and that he should be careful around Halfaya Pass. That it would make a good ambush arena." My mouth opened, but New York held up a hand. "Let me get all of this out of the way. I have my own questions I want answered."

"Go on then," I murmured with a vague gesture of my hand.

"With that one mention, the result changed. Same thing for Russia. I made one mention that Leningrad might be vulnerable considering it was so easy to be surrounded. That's it. That's all it took. From there, I could see how bad this was going to get. I didn't give out any more information from the letter. I couldn't, knowing that you had been avoiding such results all along. If had the power to save you that kind of heartache, then I was going to do it. Damn the consequences." Pain lanced through my chest at those words. He shook his head and frowned in my direction. "You still don't think you're worth it. Well, let me tell you something, doll. You're worth it. Now, more than ever, I see why you kept silent. It's all going to hell faster than we can keep up with it."

"Because I wrote that letter," I nodded with conviction.

New York surged from his seat and I reeled back, surprised by the sudden movement. "Not because you wrote the letter. Not because you were weak or a burden. It's not through your actions alone that people are dying or hurting, Michelle. It's because this is _war_. Battles shift and change. They happen. Deaths will happen. They always will. One hundred years ago, now, in the future. Stop thinking that it's all your fault or so help me…"

I shrugged, not wanting to get into this argument again. It was like beating a dead horse. I would deal with my guilt alone, just like most of the other aspects. Alone. "It doesn't matter. What matters is how we stop it and how we can predict the changes. We hav to mitigate the changes now or it will get so far out of control that the entire end of the war might change. You haven't told anyone the other events, right? Not even—" _America,_ went unsaid.

We both knew I was referring to Pearl Harbor.

"No," he muttered. "I can't. I can't even warn Lakona about the oncoming attack." His voice lowered to a whisper with the last word. There was a bitterness in his tone that I recognized. It was the bitterness that came with inability. "I've got a couple guys in Japan. They sent a couple messages to Washington warning of an attack. It's just tough to believe that Japan would try anything so outspoken, so overt."

Silence fell over us for a few minutes and it wasn't nearly as companionable as our silences used to be.

The pieces began to fall together in my mind. The warnings that America had received were from _New York_ , in a roundabout way. So, when America was speaking before, it was never in reference to my letter as I had thought. Instead, it was in reference to the warnings received from the government, and ultimately, from New York.

That part made sense.

It made sense!

It made sense why America had never referred to the attack by name or ever mentioned the exact date. It explained why he never asked me for more details. Furthermore, it seemed almost unbelievable that a single mention of a mere chance had shifted the timeline so dramatically. It didn't bode well. It didn't bode well at all.

"How do you deal with this?"

I blinked owlishly and turned my attention back toward the State. He looked tired again. "Deal with what?"

"Deal with knowing. Knowing but not telling. It's…killing me to keep this from America." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I know I have to. I get it now. Look what some small changes did: Egypt got captured. Syria right after him. The African campaign is a mess. There's no telling what changes would come of Pearl Har—"

"The date will change," I commented with as little emotion as I could manage. Still, my chest was aching. This was all way too much. "Alfred figured it out. Even without having the letter. Shows hwo smart he really is." New York snorted. "Japan knows I'm here and will assume that I gave America information. He'll change the planned date to an earlier time so that any warnings would be useless. Japan's smart. He'll make it so we won't be able predict the attack."

"Damn it," New York growled. "It won't stop, will it? It'll just keep cascading out like a row of dominos."

My head nodded. "Worldwide chaos. Even moreso than it would have been before. It's not _just_ the letter, New York. It's my mere _presence_. Ultimately, America doesn't know about the attack on Pearl Harbor because you kept that information secret. My presence is what changed the date, not my weakness. Not the letter or you. I see that now. Japan _assumes_ I've said something and that assumption is what will cause the date of the attack to change." I felt a chill run down my spine and I pulled my cardigan a little tighter around my shoulders. "Johnny, there's nothing I can do. This…this is why I have to leave."

It's a chilling realization: to know that one is helpless. My hands were tied, mostly because the fate of the Nations was so beyond my control that it was almost laughable. I was inconsequential and yet I affected the world in a way that no one ever should.

No one person should ever have that kind of power or that kind of responsibility.

Yet at the same time, I was powerless.

Powerless to stop the changes to the timeline.

The strings were unraveling before my very eyes.

It was sick, cruel. It was like watching a burning building with a glass of water in your hand. That tiny amount of water would never put out such a large, growing flame.

" _The question is: can we stand under that kind of pressure?"_

John Jay considered me for a few minutes before leaning forward to grab one of my fisted hands. He sat there for a second, staring at my drawn face. "You can't help more than you already have, Shelly. I kept…I kept that letter because I—Well, hell. I was _scared._ I'm not an idiot like some Nations think. Even some of the States. I got it when you explained what the consequences might be. I saw that letter and I panicked. You had already been stolen from me and…I didn't want everything to be wasted. So, I dropped some hints. I never expected it to end with…" His head shook. "From here on out, Michelle, you need to lie low and let us handle everything. Don't worry too much and—"

My attention slid from New York to the window. Something there caught my eye, a flash of blue and silver in the bushes outside. Heart speeding up at what I guessed to be another hallucination, I pulled my hand from under Johnny's and strode toward the opposite wall, looking out of the lead glass the sparkled with droplets of rainwater. He was still there. I could feel it. He was hiding among the bushes, waiting for more information to be leaked out through the thin windows.

I understood.

I understood the situation.

Two could play this game.

I could play this game.

Despite my racing heart, I kept calm and collected. I wasn't going to be just some scared girl hiding in the corner who had others fight for her. I wasn't going to just sit silently and be told "not worry too much." There had never been a time for that in my life. Dad. School. Corey off to war. Even when I was once my floor-mat teacher self, I stood up for what I believed in. This time was no different. I wasn't going to just sit around knitting while others were being harmed. I wasn't just going to be some damsel-in-distress. No.

Not me.

Let's play.

"John, I was held at Austria's estate for nearly two months before being rescued. I was tortured for the information I possessed. If the information I gave in that letter was enough to shift the balance of power toward the Axis, then…what would've happened if I gave up? What if I was too weak to keep my wits in that cellar? What if I was caught again? I wouldn't be able to handle it anymore. I'm not…I'm not strong enough."

Among the bushes, there was nothing. He was still there. Listening. Waiting.

But I was far from a fool.

I understood the situation and I didn't fear it.

I saw it for what it was.

I understood and I knew what I had to do.

An idea entered my head then.

A cockamamie, outrageously _stupid_ idea.

"Michelle?"

Do it.

I turned on my heel and wrapped my arms around my waist, cradling myself as if the darkness of the world were creeping into the room around me. "Austria's estate couldn't hold me though. It would _never_ hold me. I had friends there. I have friends there. And they saved me. Got me to safety. How can I just accept 'don't worry too much' when I'm in constant danger? Not only that, when I know that anything I say can change the fate of someone I love or someone I care about? No, New York. I'm going to worry until my hair goes gray."

Turning back around to the window, I stared out into the rain, watching the figure mounting the cobbled stone wall at the far side of the property. When he stopped listening, I couldn't say. He paused momentarily, glanced back, and threw up a hand in a smartass wave. A smile pulled at the corner of my lips, but it stopped there. The German spy then disappeared out of sight and with him went (what I guessed to be) the remainder of my sanity.

Worth the risk.

My back straightened and I accepted just how cracked this whole scheme would be. Striding over to the table, I grabbed my cane and looked down at New York. His expression told of his utter confusion. Oh, but my confidence was taking over. This plan—foolish as it may have been—was going to work.

It had to work.

"Hair goes gray—Michelle, what—"

"What you did was right. No matter how hurt I might feel on some _petty_ level, what you did—keeping the letter—was the right thing to do. And that's the last I'm going to say on the subject. We'll figure out the rest of the triggers and webs tomorrow. We can put plans in motion to stop the butterfly affect by making sure that the ripples stop where they are. Right now though, I need to speak with the Nations." Before John could protest, I walked to the door and flung it open. It banged against the wall before bouncing back toward me a bit. In a quick motion, I blocked it with my cane. "Nations, please come in."

"Shelly, what the hell—"

"I have a plan. America, you aren't going to like it. You're not gonna like it at all." The Nations continued to filter into the room, faces holding nothing but puzzlement and uncertainty. It might've been that I looked a little unhinged.

I was unhinged.

Time can make a person crazy.

We're all mad here.

And sometimes we stand alone.

In the darkness.

In the light.

In our principles.

I just needed courage.

Courage was staring at me with wide, worried eyes.

I needed that. Needed them.

And a little insanity. To pull off this hairbrained scheme.

Once everyone had arrived inside, I moved to lean against the wall between the windows and I studied their demeanors. Canada looked worried, concerned for my well-being. He was hunched a bit, suffering from a battle somewhere in the Atlantic. America stood beside him, looking dumbfounded at the way I was behaving.

My gaze skittered over China to where Russia was looking at me. Another idea sprung in my mind when our eyes connected and I nodded my head in his direction. He withheld his surprise at the gesture and mirrored the movement, a small smile pulling at his lips. It was almost as if he knew what I was about to say, what I was about to suggest. I felt my own smile curl at my mouth. Of them all, Russia would support this. For the sheer foolhardiness of it. Finally, I looked to Britain, who huffed in irritation.

"Get on with it then, Michelle. It's not like you to be so dramatic...Well, never mind. Yes, it is. Britain said. He shifted his weight to his other leg and crossed his arms. "You making such a bloody fuss over—"

My chin rose and I spoke with more confidence than I had ever felt: "Let them capture me."

"What?" America questioned in a low tone. It wasn't a shout, which made his disbelief all the more chilling. "What was that, Shelly?"

Giving him a wan smile, I repeated myself. My posture didn't change. I didn't take back my words or apologize. I didn't feel any fear or apprehension. Just sureness that what I was doing, this crazy plan, was the right thing to do. And a twinge of crazed anxiety was nipping at the edges of my mind. My head nodded, assuring them that I was serious.

"Let them do it," I stated clearly for the Allied Nations.

For the first time in several days, I smiled. Truly _smiled._

"Let them capture me."


	24. Momentum

_"Good night, then - sleep to gather strength for the morning. For the morning will come. Brightly will it shine on the brave and true, kindly on all who suffer for the cause, glorious upon the tombs of heroes. Thus will shine the dawn."_

– Winston Churchill (October 21, 1940)

"You can do that for me, right?" My gaze skittered to Russia's stunned expression. He looked so utterly surprised at my request, a childlike innocence cutting through the darkness that sometimes surrounded his personality. For a few long moments, he just stood there staring at me and I grew a bit nervous.

I glanced around his bulking form to the doorway to make sure that no one was entering the room. With the way things had been over the past twenty-four hours, I wouldn't have been at all surprised if New York or America barged in to make sure I hadn't gone "completely bat shit." Their words, not mine. If they strode in on Russia and me, there was no telling how dramatic they would get. I shifted my stance and sighed. This was all so complicated.

What had I expected exactly?

Relative ease? Ha. As if ease existed in any world, much less this one.

"Why you ask me?"

My answer was simple enough: "I trust you."

There was a moment when I thought he wouldn't do it. That he would refuse my most sincere request—the most heartfelt request that I had ever asked of anyone. And if that were the case, then I didn't quite know _what_ I would do.

Plan B would have to be implemented and it was a fair bit more complicated than Plan A.

So complicated that it didn't even exist yet.

Then, he began to smile. "I will do it, Comrade Michelle." There was a cold hardness to his eyes that made me realize that he was actually showing some of his true self underneath his smiles. My trust in him had been returned by his trust in me. To show his true self was to allow me to _see_ the truth. Under the mask. "Do you ask because you trust or because you need? Other than me, there is no one else who could do it."

Ah, Discerning Russia.

Just like all the other Nations, he was smart. Of course, with his history, he would be able to see through my strategy like no one else had. I shrugged my shoulders and gave him a slightly amused grin. A little guilt was there as well. "You caught me. You're the only one who could do it…effectively, but you should know that: I trust you, too. I suppose it is both sides here. It's not that I mean to use you, Russia, but I mean to employ your strengths."

"No need for the rhetoric," Russia replied easily. "I will do it. Your honesty is refreshing though." He winced just slightly and I took a careful step toward him, worry lancing through me. The tall Nation simply waved me off and smiled even wider. "It is of no concern, _dushenka._ Soon the Germany will pay for all the hurt he is causing for me and mine." Even as he said this, I placed a wary hand on his arm. He responded almost immediately, placing his large hand atop mine. "Millions, _dushenka._ Millions of my people." My heart broke for him. He loved his children as much as any other Nation. Yet there was nothing he could do to save them. "Do not do this, Michelle. It is bad idea."

"Which part?" I questioned, raising my brows. "The part where I'm captured or the part where—"

"The part that you are trusting me to take care of," he muttered. "I do not like it."

My hand slipped from under his as I stepped away. He merely stood there, watching me from his immense height. There was certainly reluctance in his violet eyes, but I didn't have a choice. I _had to_ ask this of him. I had to. "Please, Russia. I won't beg you. I have more dignity than that, but I need you to be there. I need for you to take care of it. Should the time come." Slowly, his head began to nod and I felt relief. Even after voicing his discomfort with the request, he was still going to uphold it. And _that_ was a relief in and of itself. "Thank you, my friend."

Turning, I started to leave the room.

Before I could get two steps away, a hand on my shoulder stopped me. "Wait," he said quietly. "You call me friend?" My head nodded as I glanced back at him. He looked confused for a moment before a bright smile lit up his face. All of the previous darkness was gone. "You are a friend. It has been long time since I had… human friend. They all die." He released his hold on my shoulder as I turned to face him fully.

Sunlight filtered through the windows. The first cloudless dawn in weeks. In a very smooth and habit-driven motion, he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on either cheek. I smiled in return at the gesture, knowing that it was meant to be nothing more than an intimate moment between good friends

" _Dushenka_ , be careful. It easy for you to die, too."

The chilling reality of what he was saying seeped through my chest. No matter how courageous I tried to be, I still couldn't shake the fear that lingered somewhere in my heart. The fear that I wouldn't survive this. That I wouldn't get out of this alive. "I'll be careful, Ivan. You have my word. You'll see me again." I took a step back and then left him alone in that sunlit room.

 _Three out of the six started yelling at the same moment. England's voice was inevitably drowned out by America and New York's volume—which was louder than I had ever heard either of them. Johnny threw the chair he sat in back with such force that it clattered noisily to the floor. I flinched a little at the sound, but no one seemed to notice it. Instead, they were too focused on telling me just how utterly_ stupid _I was to even consider this plan. To even consider letting myself be captured by the Axis._

_And really, I couldn't argue with them. It was a preposterous idea._

_So, in the face of all their noise, I just remained quiet and took the shouting in stride._

" _You're out of your freakin' mind if you think that we're just gonna let them get you!"_

" _Out of your_ damn _mind!" New York concurred loudly. I saw Matthew sigh at the whole 'conversation' as he rubbed his forehead with his palm. "Shelly! You're not serious! You can't be serious!"_

" _She ain't serious! Look at her! She's barely recovered from the last time those bastards had her!" America gestured wildly toward me and then pinned me down with an authoritative glare._

_It was then that Britain stopped shouting whatever he was yelling in the background. His arms crossed and he glared at America, clearly irritated that his own argument was going unheard due to Alfred's intensity. In turn, America began to look angrier—eyes flashing toward New York, who had stopped his tirade in favor of simply glaring at me. Now, it was America alone that was storming to the center of the room._

" _You're not doing this. You're not. I don't give a damn if you never get home. You're not turning yourself over to them. That's final. It's freakin'_ final!" _His arms crossed to mirror my stance and for a moment, I wasn't sure if the man yelling was Alfred or America. Or was a foolish for trying to separate the two out? "Come on, Michelle! You've lost it!"_

_My eye turned to where Russia and China were watching the scene. I knew the best way to handle America in this state was to remain calm and collected. That was the front that I was portraying when speaking to the two Nations across the room. "Your thoughts? China? Russia?"_

_America whipped his head around to glare at Ivan and Yao, daring them to say anything to the positive. Russia actually seemed to stiffen at the look, as if he couldn't stand to be dictated to by Alfred, which was likely the case. Just for that alone, it seemed that Ivan had made a decision. And China began to nod his head thoughtfully. It almost seemed as though the Asian Nation was being patronizing with the small smirk on his lips._

" _I can see the benefits—"_

" _No! No, there aren't any benefits! No one asked you, China! Just shut up!"_

" _I asked him," I spoke up again. When Alfred looked back at me, I knew that I was talking to the_ Nation _. His stance had completely changed. His shoulders weren't hunched and his back was straight. He had become a military man and he was facing a battlefield crisis. The sharpness in his gaze told me not to speak again, but…I spoke anyway. "He's part of the Allies. His opinion should be heard. If anyone, he has the most_ logical _opinion of everyone here. All of you hold a personal connection to me and that influences the situation. He does not. In fact, I suspect that he has kept our connection minimal on purpose to avoid a conflict of interests. Well, not to mention the fact that you simply don't like me." I glanced to Yao to see him fighting back a smile. "Am I right?"_

" _You are correct," he said with a nod. China took a single step forward._

_Uncrossing my arms, I walked over to the fallen chair and lifted it up. Once righted, I took a seat in it, gesturing for the others to do the same. Only two took me up on the offer: Russia and Matthew. The latter of the two sat closest to me and seemed to still be forming his opinion on my plan. "I've already laid the groundwork. We'll see if they bite."_

" _Laid the groundwork? What the hell does that mean?" America questioned while placing his hands on his hips. "Hurry up and explain it to us simple folk, Shelly! We're not all stupid geniuses."_

_Shrugging my shoulders while Britain visibly slapped his palm to his face, I decided to go ahead with explaining the basic concept of the plan in the simplest way I could. "Prussia was spying outside of the window for most of my meeting with Johnny. I might've said a few things that would lead Prussia and, subsequently, Germany to believe that I would break if captured again. Ultimately, that increases my value as an asset that Germany needs._

" _He's getting desperate. Russia's stronger than he anticipated. He—being Hitler in this case—likely didn't heed Ludwig's warnings. I don't see Germany participating in Hitler's Russian front willingly. It's not logical. And if Germany thrives on anything, it's order and logic."_

_In my peripheral vision, I saw Russia sit a little straighter than before at my praise. Meanwhile, Britain glared in my direction while America began to seethe. His shoulders rose and fell as he took deep breathes and his hands fisted at his side._

" _The comrade has point," Ivan chuckled darkly. "Attacking me is bad idea."_

" _Hitler never played Risk when he was a kid (1)," I murmured under my breath. Shaking my head, I turned to look at Britain. "He was right outside the window and ran to escape over the east wall."_

 _Arthur curled his hands into fists and, quicker than anything I had ever seen, slammed his right hand into the wall. I jumped in surprise having never seen the gentleman loose composure like that before. Then, the former pirate—for I could very much_ see _the old buccaneer underneath that uniform in the way he strode angrily from right to left—stalked toward the table and slammed his hands down. His eyes focused on me, full of rage. "You should have called for help. You should have yelled for us! You should have—"_

" _If I did, you wouldn't have caught him. And he would have returned to Germany with information about the letter and nothing more."_

_My heart was racing in my chest. Of anyone in the room, I was most fearful of Arthur. It was the insecurity, I knew, that was affecting him so much. Not even his home was safe from the other Nations. Now, he had nowhere that was safe. That's not to mention that these lapses in security reflected poorly on him._

" _Instead, I sent Prussia back with something much more interesting—the human girl will break if we try again." It seemed pretty obvious to me how I was setting this up. How this could be useful. Still, it seemed that they had only latched onto one detail. One single item in the fine plan I had pulled out of my ass at the last second. They only cared about one thing:_

" _Will you break?" New York's voice was almost too soft for me to hear at first. I turned to him and fought off the wave of guilt that I felt surging into my chest like a tidal wave. His features were contorted in pain, as if he couldn't imagine—or didn't want to imagine—what I would look like when finally broken. When I didn't answer him immediately, his voice got louder. "Will you break, Shelly?"_

" _No," I replied confidently. Inside, I wasn't so sure. Inside I was trembling with fear. Even so, I couldn't betray my fear to them. I needed this plan to work. I needed to stay strong and brave. "No. No, I won't."_

Entering the study, I was surprised to find Matthew standing in front of the bookshelves. He didn't turn upon my entering and kept his back to me whenever I went to sit at the desk. It seemed, for whatever reason, Canada wanted to remain in silence for the time-being. I wouldn't contest that.

After the long discussion I had just completed with Russia, peace and quiet was something that I desperately needed. Perhaps, in some ways, Canada needed that as well. And it was cathartic. You know, to just sit there and watch his mannerisms and the way he held himself when no one else was around. It was something else that I wanted to remember. Something that I didn't want to forget when the time came. So, I grabbed the brown leather journal from the edge of the desk and sat my pen against it.

"What are you writing?" Matthew questioned after a moment or two.

I placed the cap back on the pen and rested my arm over the pages. "Memories." Glancing down at the date, I smiled to myself and ran my fingers over the month and numbers.

When I looked up again, I saw that Matthew had seen my show of tenderness. Best to explain honestly. Besides, Matthew was quickly becoming a member of my ever-growing family in this alternate world. He should get to know my real family, too. Lord knows that my mother would embrace him as quickly as she would anyone else. "It's Momma's birthday."

"Your mother's?" Canada questioned. And I don't know if I imagined it, but I saw his eyelids flutter a bit as if he was trying to hide the fact that he likely felt tears spring in his eyes. My attention focused onto the date again so that he could get a handle on whatever emotion he was feeling. Part of me didn't want to know why Matthew had responded in such a way to my mention of my mother. Another part of me—the curious side—wanted to know if it was because of France or some indigenous mother-figure Nation. "How—How old is she?"

"Fifty. Over the hill." She was likely having a huge party in celebration. I would bet anything that Corey had somehow made it home to surprise her. We always talked about doing that one day. I could pick him up from the airport and we would wrap him in a huge box for her to open. She'd scream and cry in joy at seeing her baby boy returned. It would have been the greatest gift ever for my mother. Wistfully shaking my head, I glanced toward where Canada was standing. "Are they still angry?"

"You think they're not?" He actually gave a low chuckle. "They're going to be angry for a while. Knowing them, they're going to glare every time you enter a room."

My eyes rolled, but I said nothing. If America and New York wanted to stay mad, then they had every right to. Ultimately, their tantrums wouldn't change my decision.

" _Well, you're_ my _citizen and I'm not allowing it!" America declared as clearly as he possible could, throwing his arms out to either side._

_That's when the air in the room started to get thick. Not before, when I had endured their yelling and not when I had declared my intentions. It was with this one declaration that the atmosphere seemed to grow thick and weighted._

" _You're with me New York. And, New York, we're not allowing this. And the rest of you can go to hell. She's not getting herself captured. That's final. Decision made. Check."_

_New York's head turned quickly to face America, mouth dropping open. I could almost see the tension spider-crawling up his spine until he stood like a man at a mark. John Jay's chin rose and his eyes became hard, unforgiving, ruled by a certain code. He gave America a mechanical nod of affirmation. It was almost frightening to see him so…controlled. The oxygen seemed to rush out of my lungs when Johnny finally turned to look at me._

" _You're not doing this, Michelle."_

_I remained in my seat, trying to keep on an appearance of collected confidence. Inside though, I was screaming. Wishing that it hadn't gotten so out-of-hand so quickly. Damn it, America! My eyes quickly glanced toward Canada for confirmation that my theory was correct. He gave me the slightest nod. In that nod was both his support and his assurance that I was right in my guess that: "America, did you just order New York to obey you?"_

_Alfred didn't shift guilty or back down. Instead, his chin rose as if he were being challenged. I knew then that I wasn't talking to just my friend and brother, I was talking to a Nation. "So what if I did?"_

" _If you did, then you're going against your own basic principles."_

_He showed no sign of wavering._

_I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye. Looking toward the corner of the room, I saw that Britain was shaking his head solemnly. He was warning me_ not _to enter this battle. I narrowed my eyes and decided that I very much wanted to enter this fray. There was never an argument that I wanted to enter more than this one._

" _America, I have one word for you. I mean this from the bottom of my heart and I hope that you can find it in yours." He continued to stare at me with authority brimming through blue. "Freedom."_

_He jerked back as if he had been struck. I nodded my head and decided to break him out of whatever protective trance he was in. For that was what this had to be, America wanted to be a hero by protecting me. And this new danger was something that he just couldn't—in good nature—allow without a fight._

" _On January 6th of this year, our President made a speech. Do you remember it?" America stood stock still and I glanced momentarily toward New York, who was still at attention. "He spoke about how we American citizens should seek to look toward a world that possesses four essential human freedoms. The freedom of speech and expression, freedom of religion, freedom from want, and freedom from fear." Everyone in the room seemed stunned. I gathered a breath and held it before standing up. I squared my shoulders and placed my hands on my hips. "Some say that there is a fifth freedom. The freedom to protect the other four." My head shook and I looked toward my brothers. "You're wrong if you think you can stop me. Not if the other Nations support this plan."_

_America blinked, almost as if he was coming out of the trance. He looked around at the others with a sort-of pleading stare. Begging them without words to say 'no' or to deny the plan. Wishing that they would simply declare me crazy._

" _It might just work," Britain muttered thoughtfully._

" _WHAT?" America and New York screeched at once._

_I nodded in satisfaction._

" _I agree with the comrade."_

" _Yes." China nodded._

_No one turned to look at Canada, but he took it upon himself to speak up. "It will probably work. It's a solid strategy so far."_

_Both Americans shot vicious looks around the room before America pointed a finger at me. "You still can't do it! You're a citizen of the United States. You're my citizen and I'm not letting a girl like you go into that kind of situation. Shelly, be reasonable!"_

_New York nodded vigorously and I could practically_ see _their tactics shifting and changing to fit the new situation. "Yeah, doll face. You're not exactly in the best of health, right? You can't fight off those guys if you need to. I mean, you'll be entering a battle-like situation and women—"_

" _Are you_ seriously _about to argue that I can't do this because I'm a woman?" They both went silent and I saw America visibly wince at my tone. Yeah, he knew my stance on the whole issue of gender in this decade. He knew that I knew his stance on it. So did New York, which was why his glare shifted toward the floor, because he certainly couldn't_ look _at me after a statement like that. Fine! If they wanted to be that way, then I would just have to argue my case. "Russia, you're planning to have women as fighter pilots, correct?"_

_Russia smiled and nodded. "Da. Correct. Many great woman in Russia. Ready for fighting."_

_I didn't know enough on China's history to bring him into this debate, but he gave me a stern nod to show that he agreed with me. That was enough to fuel me for my next go. If I was getting support from_ China _, then I had to be doing something right. He wasn't one to hand out agreements. Especially not with me. Turning, I focused on the last two._

" _Canada? Women—Armed Forces? Yea or nay?"_

"I _have women serving." Matthew gave a single confirming nod._

" _Britain, I have one name for you. Rose."_

 _Arthur jerked and looked at me, incredulous. The others looked at him too with curiousness in their expressions. He shifted and coughed into his hand. "My. You_ do _know your information." Of course I did. And my reference to one of his finest spies—Eileen Nearne, who codename was 'Rose' during the war— was more than enough to gain his favor. "Yes, you have a point. The decision here should not and_ will not _be based on your gender. I think these two buffoons just do not know when to declare a loss a loss. Not shocking really."_

" _Screw you, Britain! Shelly will be a loss if we let her do this!" America shouted and looked around at the other Nations as if he had been betrayed at the deepest and most intimate level._

_Perhaps he had. I had placed him in this position knowingly. I was taking a risk that he wanted to keep me safe from. I was going against every code he had set for himself._

_Fighting off the guilt, I didn't back down. Just like him. And he could see that. He could see that I wasn't going to let it go. That I would find a way to complete the plan with or without his help or approval._

_That's what made him snap. He could see his own stubbornness in me._

" _Fine! You know what? If you wanna go get yourself killed, that's okay by me! See if I care! C'mon New York. Let's bounce."_

Matthew settled himself in the reading chair by the window, crossing his legs. I wondered for a moment where Kumojiro had disappeared to, but didn't voice the question. Instead, I merely continued to write in my journal. About half an hour passed before he spoke up. His voice was controlled and even. "They didn't mean that, you know." I stopped writing and sat my pen down, more than willing to listen to Canada's take on the whole argument. It was likely going to be the fairest opinion out of the Allied powers. "They were using the gender issue because it was the only stable argument they had."

"Aside from the whole plan being insane," I agreed. "Which is wholly a good argument."

He shook his head. "It's not just that, Michelle. Look at this debate from a more…open view."

So he wanted me to take a step back and observe the argument globally? A smile pulled at my lips. It seemed Matt had really come to understand how to speak with me. He knew how to get me to calm down and consider things in perspectives that I had never considered before.

Or maybe that was his gift all along?

All along…

My eyes widened and I felt comprehension dawn. "They were banking on the fact that women have long been considered ill-fit for military service in nearly _all_ the Allied countries, right?" When Matthew nodded, I gave a snort of amusement. "It was a good plan from a rhetorical perspective. If you haven't been paying attention to recent developments…which have given women a bit more leeway in what they can do."

"Not so much," Canada disagreed. "Britain still won't allow straight-out military service."

"Russia will," I countered.

"Russia didn't allow women to volunteer at first. It was only after Germany started winning battles that he gave into necessity. Not that it hasn't worked well for him." Canada gently corrected me and then looked down at his folded hands. "I myself have only just allowed women into my Air Force, Army, and Navy. I needed the power and I was running out of able-bodied men to take up the roles. Right now, America hasn't reached that point." He looked up again, blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Some of my own people are tarring the name of my female citizens—the ones that choose to sail or to fly— ruining their brave names with terrible words. Whispered words. (2)" His hands fisted and I sat in attentive silence, watching as a Nation dealt with his inner turmoil. "America and New York want to protect you from that. From all of it. They just want to keep you safe. None of us can fault them for it."

Looking away from him, my tired gaze settled on something reassuring. It was a random page that my journal had flipped to while I wasn't holding the book open. As my eyes scanned over the words, I found myself smiling wider and wider until I just let out a laugh and leaned my head back to rest it on the back of the chair.

It was just a random moment.

That was all it took to remind me _why_ I was taking this risk.

 _Why_ I was doing this.

 _Why_ I had to do this.

New York told me that I had said once that the 'why' was always the most important aspect of any situation. And it was. The reasons I was even going to try this crazy plan. They were scribbled in my terrible handwriting.

"Michelle, are you alright?" I raised my head and nodded, beaming at the Nation across the study.

Never had I felt so sure of something before. Never had I felt so much peace in a decision. The only other time that rivaled this feeling was when I decided to get my doctorate. That memory—the one written in my journal— was all it took to remind me. A memory of a peaceful afternoon in which we just sat in silence. America. Britain. Which in turn reminded me of peaceful times with New York and Egypt. And Canada. And Russia. A few peaceful moments with Hungary and Italy. Peaceful times. Joyful birthday parties for my mother. Late night talks with my brother and sister. Cozy dinners with friends.

Why was I doing this?

For them.

Always for them.

To help them.

To get back to them.

"I'm fine, Matt." My head nodded and I looked in his direction. "We need to hammer out the plan. I daresay that America and New York will be reluctant to hear more about what's going on."

"Reluctant might be putting it a bit too lightly, eh."

Half an hour later, the Allies had gathered in the meeting room once more. Contrary to all the previous times in which I had excused myself from the room, I was standing at the head of it. There were some scrawled notes on the chalkboard. Canada shot me an amused look after settling himself in a chair at the table. This was…This was where I was most comfortable. I felt some of my old self merging with my newly acquired confidence. Standing near that board, I felt like a teacher again. I felt like I had gained something back, something essential to my existence.

I felt connected again—to the world, to those that sat before me, to the past, and to myself. A new string was attaching itself to my finger and I was once more part of a wider network of knowledge and awareness. It was a connection that I hadn't felt for months, since teaching had been stolen from me by a Prussian and Spaniard. Taking a deep breath, I calmed my nerves and focused my attention on the waiting Nations. This was the moment of truth.

"What is the plan, Michelle?" Canada prompted to break the ice. I sent him a thankful look.

Bracing myself on the ledge of the blackboard, I leaned back. "Well, you already know that Prussia was listening in on New York and I—"

"New York and me," Britain sighed. "And yes, we already know that."

Ignoring his jab at my grammar, I simply gestured toward my notes on the board. "These are the things that I _purposefully mentioned_ in order to set up this plan. It was on the fly, so most of it way by instinct. Looking back on it, I think it'll work to our advantage. No, it will definitely work to our advantage."

New York snorted under his breath and gained my attention. I shot him a smirk.

"Johnny, you thought I would just tell you about what I went through? Just like that? You know me better. You know I don't talk that easily. No one in this room is _ever_ going to hear that story. Only one man alive has heard it." My good humor disappeared with my vague mention of Egypt and I turned to glare at the board. "While Prussia was listening, I said I wasn't strong enough to withstand more torture. That's when I said that I would break. Do you know why?"

Silence met my statement and I look around to find the Nations staring at me. There was such a wide array of expressions that it seemed no one was on the same page. Nations were rarely on the same page, embodied or not. Russia looked pleased as punch, having already heard the plan in its entirety. Canada, being the smart man he is, figured out much of what I had planned. Not that he fully approved of it. Britain was trying to puzzle it together, but appeared extremely smug at the whole idea. China was giving me an appraising look. My wily plan had caught him entirely off-guard.

Finally, America and New York.

They were horrified.

Understandably so. They hadn't truly bothered to listen to the bare minimum of my plan the night before, so this was their first real introduction to it. America gave a startled squeak of protest before pointing at me dramatically over the table. "You're—You—"

"You weren't going to tell me anything, were you?" New York questioned at last. There was some hurt in his voice, hidden beneath the gruffness he was putting on. "Those things you said, they were aimed at Prussia. So he would run back and tell Germany."

"Correct."

"That's underhanded," Britain snorted in amusement. "You were playing with him. Using him. I never pegged you the type for subterfuge."

"That not all." Russia shrugged. "She even set up _where_ she go when taken. Comrade Michelle is shrewd."

"That _one_ word for it," China said in a low tone.

"When you said that Austria's house couldn't hold you, that you had friends there, you were talking to him. You were saying that you would always break out of Austria's. So he would take you to—"

"Germany," Yao interrupted. He looked to me in approval—something that I never expected to receive from him. "You have set this up so that we will have _reason_ to enter the premises of Germany's estate. You have given us the provocation needed to break that unspoken law." He crossed his arms and learned back, observing me with keen eyes. "It is clever plan. Very clever plan."

"Almost too ingenious, if one considers that it came from _her_." I shot him a glare, but didn't say anything to argue his point. Britain sighed. "There are a few variables here though. What makes you so certain that Prussia will come after you? Why would they not just go after this mysterious letter? New York has it stored away somewhere, correct?"

"It's too well hidden." New York commented. "No one will ever find it. They know that when I hide something, it can't be found." He shrugged. "That's not to mention that it would be a waste of resources. Michelle is closer and easier to capture."

America gave John a quick questioning look before tapping on the table with his knuckles. Those knuckles produced two bright knocks. The rest of the Nations looked on inquisitively. With his brows raised, Alfred gave Johnny a significant look. It was then that I realized what those two taps meant. It was code. "Knocks" sounded a great deal like "Knox" which was a reference to "Fort Knox." New York nodded his head once and then Alfred ever so dramatically face-palmed.

"You left it with Isaac? What's the matter with you?"

I was still reeling from the crafty way the two had communicated just moments before. It was actually a little endearing and confidence-inspiring. They didn't need to say a word. Just a few motions and the meanings were exchanged.

New York shrugged. "He's the best prepared for keeping it safe. You know that as well as me. I may not like Isaac—'cause he's a redneck hick—but he's good at keeping things safe."

"If it's where I think it is," I spoke up, "then it should be safe. Just make sure to burn it when you get back."

"I don't wanna burn it. There's some stuff in that letter… that I want to keep."

Going stock-still, I looked to New York and gave him a questioning look. Honestly, I couldn't remember anything more than what I had put in the list. The other rambling bits were long-gone from my memory. In that state, there was no telling what I had written down. "What—"

"What else did you set up in this barmy plan of yours, Michelle?"

Riling a bit in defense of my strategy, I raised my chin and smiled over toward the British man. "More 'barmy' than dropping 75,000 bags of tea over Holland?" This actually earned a snort from America while Britain's jaw dropped. "It was a great move though, Arthur. A nice message. _The Netherlands will rise again. Greetings from the Free Netherlands East Indies. Chins up._ "

"How can you quote the bloody message?" Arthur practically shouted. "It was barely even publicized! Better yet, how can you know that this plan will work and be beneficial to us all? How?"

"I studied for years to earn my doctorate. I didn't just sit on my hands and do nothing for that time. I memorized things. I wrote paper after paper. And more papers. I studied cultures. I studied historical texts. I gathered stories. I memorized strategies and secrets. I took exams. I practically _bled_ history. No, I do bleed history. All of us do." A few of them looked a little stunned at my passionate defense. "My students were going to learn the lesser known facts—that's how I know—the facts that most professors never talk about. I was going to have them view things from different perspectives, get them to think outside of the tiny boxes they'd been given. Studying and teaching was _my life_. It was my love. It was my calling. _That's_ how I know. Aside from my family and a couple friends, history and education was all I had."

"You tell him, Shelly." America muttered under his breath, almost as if he couldn't help it. He was still mad at me after all. That much was clear in the way his arms remained crossed over his chest.

"As for the plan," I continued. "It will work. It'll work because _they_ need it to work. They—the Axis— need me. I'm a valuable commodity. They want to end this war as much as you do. They want the easy way out as much as you do. They're desperate for a way to stop it just like you. I'm their ticket to a quick victory. You think they won't take that chance?"

"They will. We all would." Russia nodded in agreement. "Right now, we are not human. We are Nation. For them, Comrade Michelle is means to end. For us, she is means to end."

"She is not!" America was on his feet in an instant.

I stepped forward immediately, to intercede in the coming argument. "America. That's what I am right now. You have to gain that kind of distance. Consider this on a larger scale."

"No," he retorted. His sharp eyes turned to each Nation in turn. "You all can dehumanize her to make this easier for yourselves. I won't do that. No."

"Just like everyone else, America, you'll have to face this eventually." Britain said in a low tone. It was strange to hear, but fitting in a way. Arthur held a very brotherly shade in his voice. "It is not that we are dehumanizing her, but we are merely embracing the fact that she came up with the idea. We are not forcing it upon her. She is volunteering. Do you see the difference? If you don't, perhaps you should just jump in that ridiculous plane of yours and fly home. Either way, this plan will proceed with or without you. We've lost too much to not take this opportunity. Michelle knows that better than anyone here. And with the way you're acting, you are likely embarrassing her to hell and back. Now, grow a pair and bloody deal with it. We all have people at risk. Put this into perspective, will you?

All eyes shifted to America as he glared at his hands. His words were soft and harsh, whispered barely loud enough to hear. "I don't want to lose anyone else."

A chill ran down my spine when his blue eyes looked back to me. I could feel all the eyes in the room turning to look at me—to look at my mortality. The reality was: I was mortal in a room of immortals. And they were all too aware of how fragile life was. My own sense of inevitability crashed over me and my heart began to race. At twenty-five, I had only considered death three times. First, when Dad died and death became real. Second, when Corey's best friend was killed in action. And finally, when I was kidnapped the first time.

Now, with all of those pitying—were they pitying me or themselves?—eyes staring up at me, I had to put on a face of fearlessness. I had to be strong. Be brave. They were relying on that. Nations always rely on the strength of their people. I had to show America that I was solid and steady.

When I stared back at them with a steely, unwavering gaze, they all slowly began to nod one-by-one.

The plan was in motion. And so, my first and only mission had begun.

I just prayed I was doing the right thing. For all of us.

Gasping, I sat up in bed and looked frantically around the room. Nothing. There was no one standing at the end, waiting to steal me away. There was nothing but silence and the brisk fall wind outside the window. It was knocking a few limbs against the side of the house and was whistling through something, somewhere. I couldn't say. I sat up after a moment and pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms securely around them. It was only now that I could let the fear take hold, that I would let myself be weak. And in that weakness, the dark frightened me. The knowledge that I could be returning to that solitary confinement was overwhelmingly terrifying. Unlike any fear I had fathomed before. I quivered violently, shaking as if I were lost in some inescapable blizzard. A cold sweat broke over my skin.

If I didn't do this, the price would be even higher.

The cost would be unimaginable.

It would be innocents. Nations. Who paid the price.

If I gave into my fear, I could lose them. They would fall.

Each of them. To a tyrant.

And I couldn't allow that to happen. To any of them.

I _wouldn't_ allow it to happen. To any of them.

Burying my face into my bony knees, I swore to myself.

 _Canada_.

I swore to myself that I would do anything I could to protect them.

_New York._

To protect their peoples.

 _America_.

Everything. Anything.

 _Egypt_.

In my power.

To keep them safe.

To make them safe.

My friends.

My family.

New. Old.

"Michelle?"

** Footnotes: **

(1) Eddie Izzard reference. She's making it, not me. If that makes any sense. As a history buff, she would know the jokes that surround the history subject.

(2) "Whispered words" refers to a campaign by certain groups in Canada that were against women serving in the military. They would start rumors about illegitmate pregnancy, sexuality, and gender roles. They also argued that military women weren't 'feminine' which was a huge insult back then (and still is today).


	25. Disaster

" _In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it."_

 _–_ Abraham Lincoln (December 23, 1862)

I was nineteen when a natural disaster struck my hometown. It was the end of my freshman year. All of the stress was reaching its peak with finals quickly approaching. It seemed that the stress couldn't possibly get any worse. At the time, I was straddling the A-B divide—89.3, and the professor never rounded grades up. All of my hard work from the semester depended upon my final exam. The tension was building in my chest. Consequently, I withdrew from all social activities. Hell, I barely even called my _mother_ in that time. I was determined to achieve perfection. Such was my determination to achieve my infallible 4.0 that I even stopped paying attention to Facebook and the internet. It wasn't until that calculus final ended at half-past four on May 3rd that I learned of what drama was unfolding back home.

Momma told me that I didn't need to worry. She said that the house was fine and that the family was safe. She said that the water was rising pretty quick, but it seemed like everything would be alright in the end. She said that most of our family and friend's houses were safe from the rising waters. Still, I wanted to rush home. I wanted to climb into my little Mazda and speed down I-40 until I could hug my mother.

She told me to stay in Knoxville.

She said it was safer.

It was a "thousand year flood," which meant that it was the biggest flood in one thousand years. Pretty straight-forward meaning, but that didn't account for the way society had grown in that amount of time. The amount of water was staggering and, as I watched with bated breath from my dorm room, I saw the murky brown waters inundate my hometown. It was single biggest disaster to strike middle Tennessee since the Civil War—the largest flood since 1937. Yet, there was little news coverage of the extensive damage. The cable networks mentioned it once or twice, but instead focused on other unfolding issues—the oil spill in the gulf and the newest attempt at terrorism in Times Square.

And I understood immediately why that was the case.

Since I was young, I was taught not to push my problems on others—to avoid talking about my issues with other people. It was the way my grandparents taught my mother and father. It was the way my mother and father taught me and my siblings. Even when my dad was sick, I never spoke about it. I never confided in anyone. Never really told my friends. I kept it to myself, kept the pain to myself. Like always. I could handle it.

There were boats floating down West End. There were houses floating in the ever-growing depths. Livestock was killed. The water filled our arena. It ruined the Grand Ole Opry. The water was dirty, backing up sewage lines. It was littered with debris. Even so, you never heard all that much about it. People kept quiet, kept their problems to themselves. The community handled itself, just like how I had been taught. Just like Mom was doing as she told me everything was fine. Just like I learned that Grandpa waited until the last minute to leave and nearly lost his life in the process.

And after _two days_ of sitting on my hands, I threw my bag into my car, slipped on my ridiculously audacious rain boots, and drove home.

Eventually, as they always do, the flood waters receded. They left disaster and heartache in their wake. They left mud. They left death. They took away many lives—young and old. They left changes and pain. Even so, the waters left something else: strength. Each person connected to that disaster was affected in some way or another. That experience would never leave me, nor would it ever fade from my memory. It was just another in a long strain of life experiences that shaped me.

After all, we are each a culmination of our past experiences.

I always tried to teach my kids that.

My kids.

I missed teaching…

"Michelle?" America's voice broke me from my thoughts. The moonlight was barely enough to see him standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. "You're…You're crying."

Surprised, I quickly grabbed a corner of the blue knit blanket and dragged it unceremoniously across my eyes. It scratched my cheeks, which burned with embarrassment. How could I face him like this? Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I looked over to him to find him still frozen in place. "Yes?"

"I just wanted—I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know that this all has to be rough for you. You know, without me making it difficult." At least he knew that I wasn't exactly comfortable with his blatant disapproval. It was showing his own self-awareness at the very least. My Nation wasn't a fool. He had proven that time and time again. "Sweetheart, you don't have to do this. You know, I've got it all worked out." He stepped further inside and pressed the door shut with a light 'click.' Alfred turned and leaned on the closed door and crossed his arms.

"Got _what_ all planned? This is the only way for me to get home."

"That's not what I mean," he huffed. "I mean, yeah…With my plan you'd have to stay here, but is that really so bad?"

"That's not why I'm leaving and you know it." America was trying to make this a simplistic personal matter when it was really an international glitch in the system. "My mere presence in this world is changing the timeline. If I stay, you might lose the war."

"Oh please. Have a little more faith in me. I'm the hero, after all. I won't lose."

"Even heroes have weaknesses, America." He looked so stunned at my words that I had to sigh. "America, you wanted to talk seriously, so act serious. There's no need for the mask with me. You've taken it off too many times to put it back on again."

America considered me for a moment before pushing off the door. His military boots thumped against the wooden floors as he walked over to the window. He assumed a very authoritative stance, an at-ease position for the military. For a moment, I could see another image there. Britain taking the same stance. I blinked and the image was gone. "Get serious, huh? Chyeah, maybe I should. The time's a-comin' anyway. No avoiding that train, looks like." I raised my brows. "Japan really is gonna attack soon, isn't he?"

I jerked and tried to control my nervous energy by wringing the blanket corner in my fingers. Then, I realized that: of course he knew. They had been listening in on the conversation when I spoke with New York. Alfred was able to put two-and-two together. "He mentioned Hawaii—Lakona— on purpose. New York did. He knew you were listening."

"Duh. And I've already talked to you about this. The decision is the same. Ultimately, we have no idea _when_ the attack might happen. We're flyin' blind." He reached and placed a hand on the window sill and leaned forward. "Michelle, my plan is pretty simple. You could have a really good life here. A safe life. I could promise it, ensure it. Just...don't do this. The risk of you dying is too high. Way too damn high."

When I began to speak, he turned around and threw out his hands.

"A small house in Kansas City! That's what you wanted right? I know a guy. Well, he's a State. Charlie—" Were all States named after their governors? "He's more than willing to take you in for a while. You can rest there. I can get you out right now if you want. New York's onboard. All you have to do is say: America, get me out of here. I'll keep everyone away from you. I can keep you safe. I can." He was pleading with me, begging me. And it was breaking my heart to see him so desperate.

America truly did care for me. Deeply. I could tell by the shake of his voice. I glanced away, unable to look him in the eye.

"Shelly, _please_. I've lost too many people. I don't want to lose another one! I don't want to lose another friend. I can't—I can't handle it anymore!"

Taking in a calming breath, I tried to keep my tears at bay. His words and promises were tempting. I wouldn't be human if I didn't consider running away. This was my chance to do so. I had no doubt that America could and would follow through with every single promise. I could settle down like I wanted. I could remove myself from this war. I could hope that all ended for the best. I could hope and do nothing. I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders before slipping out of bed. There was no need to bother with my cane. Only a few uneven steps and I was standing in front of my Nation.

"America—you need to look at me." Reaching up, I placed a hand on the side of his face and turned his head toward mine. My eyes caught his after a moment of seeking. "I won't lie to you. I'm _tempted_ to run away." I shook my head and smiled. "I wish I could rest. I wish I could just leave everything up to chance, throw my hands up and hope for the best. I wish I could, but…I can't. I won't." His eyes closed and he held his breath, right hand rising to rest on my own.

"I can't tell you," America murmured with his eyes still shut. He let out the breath he was holding. "I can't tell you how many times I've heard that."

How many times _had_ he heard something similar? I knew I couldn't equate myself to those people. I was just in some extraordinary circumstances, nothing more than that. I was doing what anyone would in my situation. I had to protect the man in front of me and the nation he represented. I had to protect my friends. "It'll all be okay. The good guys always win, right?" It was meant to be reassuring, meant to strengthen his resolve, but it only made him open his eyes. "Everything will be fine."

America had me in a hug in the next second, pulling me to him. Once more, I felt like I was home. My eyes closed and I allowed a few tears to fall into his uniform. His hand rose and rested atop my head in a gesture that I felt symbolized our relationship—that of family. How had I come to this point? When I first arrived in this world, America was just a familiar stranger. "Shelly, I…Don't you dare die, okay? Don't do anything stupid. Anything, alright? And _don't_ be a hero. You keep your head down and don't piss them off."

"Don't be a hero? Are you serious?" As if I could be a hero in any ridiculous capacity in the first place! "America—"

"It's cool if _I'm_ the hero because I _am_ the hero. You should just…play it safe. Play the helpless damsel. Act like you're weak. Act like you're vulnerable. Act like you're feeble-minded. When they capture you, give them _just enough_ to keep them interested. String them along. Play 'em. How long can you hold your breath?" He pushed me back by my shoulders. "How long, Shell?"

"America, he's not going to waterboard me." I was confident that I wasn't going to suffer any physical torture this time. It would _all_ be mental. "Germany's not evil. He's just desperate. Besides, he wouldn't risk the political ramifications within his own ranks if he _did_ something that violent. The infection was a mistake, an oversight that he likely regrets to this day. Somehow I gained the favor of a few rebellious Axis. I intend to make good use of those connections while I'm being held captive. They could use the help with their anti-Nazi movements."

"Right, I forgot that you probably have this whole thing planned out."

"I have backup plans for my backup plans," I responded comfortingly.

It was a total lie.

I didn't have a clue what the hell I was going to actually do upon arriving in Germany.

Just that I had to survive long enough to use Norway to get home.

Just that I had to wait long enough for the Allies to get me out alive.

I held onto America a little tighter and tried to memorize the feeling. This was something I was certain would never happen again. Tension was creeping into my shoulders. The time would soon come when I would not be able to hug him like this again. I'd leave him just like everyone else had. I would be another of those numbers that America had lost to his immortality. My heart ached for that. It was his curse to bear and there was nothing I could do to ease that pain. So I just held him tighter, willing him to be strong when all else failed him. America had accepted my plan, but had planted a seed of what-if within me.

What if I just ran away?

What if I just gave up? Would I live alone?

Would I survive the war in peace? Would I teach again?

Those possibilities didn't exist anymore.

**0525 Friday October 31, 1941**

For a few moments, I couldn't differentiate the screaming. Screams were sounding in my dream. The monster had appeared at the door of the room and there was clearly no escape. France fell to the brute strength first, quickly followed by a bloody Canada. I felt my heart thundering my chest as I tried to keep my emotions in check. Matthew's lifeless blue eyes stared up at me. His last words told me to run. After him, China and Prussia fell with cracked skulls. Then Britain sacrificed his life to save America.

Germany. It happened so quickly that I only saw him cough up blood afterward. He fell to the side and went still. Italy screamed, shrieking for Ludwig—calling for him with such emotion that I was distracted for a single moment. That was all it took.

In a blink, the monster was upon me.

There was no time to move.

And then America was screaming.

There was blood everywhere.

I saw him fall.

His blood on my hands and torn clothes.

I heard him scream.

As if his very soul were on fire.

Gasping in a breath, I sat up and heard the wailing sound of someone's voice echoing through the house. My frantically shaking hands threw the covers from my legs and I tumbled out of bed, clumsily catching myself as I stumbled for the door. The pained yowls continued and I could hear others yelling over the noise. Britain's baritone was barking out orders, questioning what was going on. That's when I recognized the voice—the scream. Just like I had heard barely a week before and then again in my nightmares.

I reached forward to grasp the handle of my bedroom and turned.

Yet it wouldn't turn.

Or open.

The door was locked.

Heart leaping into my throat, I spun around and slammed my back into the door. My gaze skittered around the darkened room, looking for any sign of an intruder. Behind my back, my hand continued to jiggle the handle, hoping that this was somehow due to my lack of rest. No, the door was locked. It was locked and I was trapped.

America let out another pained scream and tears sprung in my eyes. He was hurting. Somewhere in this house, he was hurting. I had to—I jerked the handle a little harder as I continued to pinpoint the other presence in the room.

"If you hurt him," I breathed out. Someone was there. They had to be. "If you hurt him, I swear—"

"Swear what?" An accented voice spoke up from the bathroom. "That you'll split a skull? That pansy-ass Spain is still complaining about your swing." Prussia stepped into the moonlight and his hair seemed to shine. I sucked in a breath and shifted myself a step to the side. My right hand remained draped on the door handle, but I no longer tried to open it.

Another scream. I flinched. "What did you do?"

Prussia looked offended. "Why does everyone always blame me? It was not me! I did nothing. I am the awesome Prussia, not some noob who screws up every mission he's placed on! Maybe that wuss America is just having a scary dream. Ever think about that?" His hands waved around and he gestured vaguely toward me. "You got skinnier!" My chin rose in defiance and I said nothing in return, wincing just slightly when another scream sounded. It seemed to echo around me, reverberating. There was nothing I could do to help him. Nothing at all. "It is lucky for them that they are tending America right now. I won't have to bother beating them to a bloody pulp."

As if he could take Canada, America, Britain, and Russia at the same time. One more scream rang out and I pushed my panic away. I needed to keep calm, keep collected. I needed to stick to the plan. My eyes skittered to the bathroom in which the former Nation had been hiding. "Just how long were you in there?"

"Five minutes or so," Prussia snorted. "Wussy America started screaming almost as soon as I stepped inside your window. This house is _really easy_ to break into." I tensed, wanting to defend Britain at that shot. Prussia was in direct violation of what appeared to be Nation code. Poor Britain was likely downstairs or in the annex fretting over America. "I assume you are going to come peacefully."

"Peacefully…" I moved slightly and removed my hand from the door handle. "You expect me to come peacefully?"

He shrugged, "I don't really care. I was just ordered to get you and I will complete my mission whether it ends with you unconscious or not." Prussia gave a melodramatic yawn and rolled his shoulders back. I could hear shouting from somewhere else in the house. It seemed that all of the Nations had congregated in the annex, leaving me alone with the Prussian albino. "No big deal to me either way."

My exhale quivered as I moved around to the bed again, slipping my feet into a pair of slippers that rested there. Before, when I had been kidnapped, I had not been conscious enough to have any sort of shoe on when running from the house. This time, I was not going to be so unconscious of my surroundings. It seemed that the situation was being handled completely different from before. With only Prussia sent to abduct me, this entire operation was likely being kept 'in-house' and Germany was keeping it quiet. This made sense as Hungary and Greece would likely aid in my second escape. My mind worked in overdrive, trying to figure out the best course of action.

Going too easily would look suspicious.

Fighting back too much would gain the Nations' attention, regardless of America's state of distress.

On the nightstand of my bed lay my only weapon. As soon as it caught my eye, I knew what I had to do. My hand darted out and I grabbed it, wrenching the sheath from the blade in a quick movement. I poised the dagger in the way that Egypt had taught me, ready to shove the blade under any set of ribs. This was the same military-grade dagger that Egypt had given me for self-defense. I always kept something of him close—be it the knife or the scarf or the books. As a reminder of what the cost was.

"You're going to fight me? With a little blade?" He let out a strain of crazed laughter, though it was somewhat muted as he didn't want to gain the other Nations' attention. "You're crazy!"

"Probably," I agreed immediately.

And he pulled out his pistol with a pleased smirk.

It wasn't that I didn't expect him to have a gun, but seeing it had caused my fear to skyrocket. Flashes of memories rushed through my mind. Memories that I had buried for months. The crack of a gunshot and the fall of a limp body. Delaware's eyes as he stared up at me. Blood. Blood on my hands. I let out a quivering breath and took a couple steps backwards, hitting the wall beside my nightstand. Just then, I realized that this was all very real. I was about to be taken again. I would have yet another near-death experience. What were the chances that this time, I would actually die? Growing exponentially by the second. The knife remained aloft, shaking just slightly.

Gilbert shook his head. "I could just shoot you and be done with this whole problem. Do you know that? One shot. Through your forehead. I could end all this. As the awesome Prussia, I could do it. I am an awesome shot." What? How could he—It was the first mention any of the Nations had ever made about actually _killing me_ outright. China only hinted at it. "It would be efficient, ja? Why waste this time?"

"You're all about efficiency, aren't you?" I questioned in a low tone. He stiffened. "Averaging about six thousand at least a day. Ruthless, terrible efficiency." Provoking him was a poor choice, it seemed. Provoking Prussia was usually a bad choice, one that I seemed to always make. He didn't fire his gun, but instead crossed the room in a few angry strides until he was towering over me. He was far taller than I remembered. "How many innocents, Prussia? How many in Ludwig's land alone?"

A hand was at my throat and, in my surprise, I dropped the knife. "Shut up, you stupid bitch."

Panic glanced through me at the loss of my weapon. Still, I was no soldier. I wouldn't have stabbed him fingers weren't tight, but it was meant to be a threat. "So Germany _does_ take after you. He did the same to me not too long ago." His hand loosened a bit more as I stared up into his crimson red eyes. A chill ran down my spine.

This was a military man standing before me—a long-standing empire that was suffering through torturous conditions. He was watching his brother being forced to murder his own citizens and the citizens of his friends. I couldn't think of anything more terrifying for an older sibling than to watch your younger brother or sister being forced into something that they didn't want to do or to watch them go through any hardships at all. He was trying to protect Germany at this moment. I could see _that_ clear as day.

I would kill to protect Corey and Donna.

"You want to end it here? End it here." My voice was calm, accepting.

His hand tightened and he leaned forward in an effort to intimidate me. Inside, it was working. I was terrified that he might actually go through with it. He was desperate enough, that much was clear in the way he held himself. His own front—the Russian front—wasn't going as well as he had thought it would. It was his problems with that battle that made my knowledge so essential. To him, I represented his failures. When my vision began to blur a bit, then my horror truly skyrocketed and my hand rose to scratch at his fingers.

I've had endured worse.

Far worse than this.

I had to stay strong.

No fear.

Spots danced into the moonlight. This wasn't going as I had planned. Murdering me had never entered my field of vision. I always expected that my knowledge would keep me alive in this world. I always thought it made me _valuable_ to all the Nations. There was so much to lose, I always thought that my value was placed upon that.

The only thing was: Prussia had nothing left to lose.

My attempts to breath were hungry gasps and I felt myself starting to slip into unconsciousness.

No! No!

I can't.

I can't!

This wasn't the way it was meant to go. I didn't want to die. Not like this. Not by the hands of Prussia. Not without doing something right. Not without seeing my family again. I didn't want to die. My nails stopped ripping through Gilbert's skin as the world darkened. There was no fighting it.

Everything had gone wrong.

This was…

"Stop," a calm voice interrupted the ringing in my ears. The hand grew tighter, not showing any signs of relenting. The voice came again in the mists, swirling that smoky substance about. I could see Prussia's determination. He wanted to remove the threat. He wanted to spare his brother from any of the ramifications that followed me. I could see it. How could I not have predicted this? _Oh_ , my mind began to slip away, _because I was only thinking of him as a tool and not a living being_. My mistake. Fatal mistake. "Stop now. Release her. Release her!"

Then, suddenly, the hand was gone and I could breathe again.

Gasping in a breath of air, I started to fall to the floor only to be caught by a pair of strong arms. They hoisted me up, sweeping beneath my knees and shoulders. I was quickly placed on the edge of the bed as I collected myself. I could barely see, my lack of oxygen making the dark room seem even darker.

"Whatever," Prussia muttered. "If I wanted to kill her, I would have just shot her."

Something was draped over my shoulders and I reached up to wrap the blanket around. My shoulders and chest continued to heavily rise and fall as I gulped in greedy breathes of air. It wasn't until almost a minute later that I was able to see clearly again. The other person had stepped back by that time to stand a few feet away. I could see his shoes in the moonlight.

It was like I was being choked again.

I couldn't draw a breath. My chest began to tingle.

No...

My wide-eyed gaze trailed upward. Up the bandaged calves to the khaki pants. Further up to the khaki shirt and finally his face. He stared back at me, façade of calmness flickering. No, he could see my fear. He could sense it. My mouth opened, but I could find no words. I couldn't find the strength. All of my fight left me. Forgoing all of my vows to remain collected, heat gathered in my eyes.

Why? Why was—

Why would _he_ do this? Why would Germany do this?

To him? To me?

Bile entered my throat when I realized just what this meant.

Throat beginning to burn, I tried to keep a reign on my emotions. I failed.

In so many ways, I failed.

"I have come to collect you, Michelle, by orders of Germany." He said the words with such malice and hate that I flinched. That anger though was not directed at me, it was directed at the man who had forced him to perform this task— knowing that he could not disobey. He was not one to show emotions, but such was his rage that he _looked_ incensed. His arms were crossed and his face was scrunched into a piercing scowl. "Please, I beg of you: come peacefully. Michelle, come peacefully. I do not want…I do not want to harm you. Never you."

My eyes blinked rapidly, forcing tears to spill down my cheeks. I could see him wince at the sight of them, a grimace pulling at his face. There was once a time when he would have been the one comforting me. I wanted so much to reach for him. To tell him how much I worried for his safety. To tell him how much I loved him and missed him. To tell him that I was sorry. Sorry for everything, the pain I caused him and his people.

Instead, I just breathed his name out like a prayer and a curse. He was standing before me, but…the Egyptian sun was no longer shining as warm as it had before. His eyes were cold with forced distance and I let out a strangled sob.

"Egypt."


	26. Intentions

" _The Nazis entered this war under the rather childish delusion that they were going to bomb everyone else, and nobody was going to bomb them. At Rotterdam, London, Warsaw, and half a hundred other places, they put their rather naïve theory into operation. They sowed the wind, and now they are going to reap the whirlwind."_

 _–_ Sir Arthur Harris

No matter how much I wanted to keep sobbing, just to let loose and cry my eyes out, I _couldn't_. The tears were falling, but I didn't want them to. I didn't want to let them see me _weak_. Whatever goal Germany had in mind when sending Egypt, I didn't want him to succeed. A few feet away, my friend (no matter if he was now controlled by another) merely stared at me. I could see it though, a flicker of anger under the surface. Either he was ashamed of my tears or he was loathing the whole situation we had found ourselves in. Knowing him, it was both.

There was simply no escape: from them, from this, from the way I just wanted to give into my emotions. My body curved forward, trying to shield myself from everything. I knew the action would do no good, but it was instinctual. I leaned forward to cradle my head in my hands.

My muscles jolted when another piercing scream echoed through Britain's home. Impulse sent me to my feet at the sound of America's voice. As if I could do anything to help him.

Another feeling enveloped me then, overtaking my grief. Soon enough, I would be an ineffectual prisoner. Tears still in my eyes and on my cheeks, I turned toward Prussia. "Whatever you're doing, stop. I'll come without protest. Just stop."

Prussia's hands and eyebrows went up. He appeared completely honest, but I didn't quite buy it. "I have no control over whatever is happening with America. What Germany's ships decide to do is up to them. The humans do what they want. We are just…party to it." He actually winced when America's yell broke the silence again. "Young ones never expect it to hurt so much. Totally unawesome… America needs to grow up."

Never expect it. Britain said something similar.

He said that the younger Nations couldn't deal with the pain as well as older Nations, especially when attacks came out of nowhere. As I stood staring at Prussia, Egypt let out a small sigh and started toward the corner of my room.

"We need to grab her and go," Gilbert hissed. Egypt effectually ignored him, throwing open a draw of my dresser. "This isn't the time for you to search her intimate lady drawer, Perverted Egypt."

The glare that Egypt shot him was nothing sort of searing. I was surprised that Prussia's smirk didn't melt clear off his face. My emotions were coming under better and better control. Egypt, despite being ordered the kidnap me, was acting no different than he normally did—reserved and rather patient. It seemed that his patience had been worn out from Prussia's mouth.

No real shock there.

"She will be properly clothed," he stated. "As such, I will pack her a bag of clothing." He gave me a glance and continued to rifle through my things. Two pairs of pants, undergarments, shirts, and the simple gray dress from when I first arrived were among the things he threw into a military-issue canvas pack. "The last time you fools took her, you gave no consideration to her—"

"She was being abducted! Of course we didn't give any consideration—to anything! What kind of stupid _are_ you? Have you never kidnapped _anyone_?" Prussia shouted. His eyes went wide and both hands were thrown up to block his own mouth. There was a moment of silence, a brief pause. Then, all hell broke loose. "Whoops. Time to go!"

Several things happened in an instant and ultimately, solidified my theory that Nations were instinctually faster than humans. Egypt had thrown two more items into the bag and had thrown that bag toward the shouting Prussian.

Prussia grabbed that bag with the deftness that could only belong to a polished warrior and spun around, throwing open the window. I continued to watch, stunned. There was a shout somewhere in the house, somewhere too far away to matter. Voices.

My name.

They were shouting my name.

The Allies had heard Prussia's yelled words and now they were coming to rescue me, despite the fact that we had agreed on my plan for abduction.

What _the hell_ was going on?

Aside from Egypt's presence, this was going exactly as I had planned.

And the attempted murder.

Egypt grabbed my cane as he rushed over to me, grabbing hold of my upper arm. "I wish…No, wishing is wrong. I have to take you, Michelle. I have no choice." His words were hushed and hurried as he pulled me toward the window. Prussia was already outside. "My people, Michelle…They might spare my people."

Stopping at the window sill, we stared at each other.

I knew. I knew I couldn't _fault_ him for any of this. Before I could respond though, in a completely unnecessary show of roughness, Prussia grabbed hold of my hair and pulled me out onto the graveled roof of the carriage house. I yelped at the pain of it, reaching up to get myself free. "Let go! Damn it! Let go!"

Prussia just laughed. "I could do worse, you know. Like strangle you. I think: why not put on a show for our audience, huh? I am not opposed to shock-and-awe campaigns. Neither are they. They like the shock-and-awe." He gestured back into the room just as the door was kicked clear off the hinges. Prussia gave a particularly dramatic yank to my strands of hair and I was convinced he was going to pull the hair out of my scalp. Just like before, when I was kidnapped from New York's home, a muscled arm was wrapped around my neck and my face was upturned to the low-hanging clouds.

"Michelle!" It was a chorus, multiple voices.

He wanted shock-and-awe? Prussia wanted payback for the damages to his and Germany's towns and cities. Through me. He wanted to—

"Don't hurt them," I whispered. This needed to happen. I _needed_ to be taken.

Why were they coming to my rescue when they were meant to hang back?

Was it because of whatever happened to America?

What had happened to America? Was he alright? Was he with them?

I couldn't hear him.

"Please." Prussia jerked my hair once more to get me to shut up. It worked. I pressed my lips together and focused on combating the pain that echoed through my head.

"Prussia, this is unnecessary. Release her." Britain's voice came out of the window. He didn't sound at all worried or desperate. "She's not a Nation. She needn't pay the price for our battles."

"It was not a battle when you bombed Berlin." He yanked my hair in a show of dominance.

Britain actually snorted. "What? You believed that you could bomb everyone else without retribution? For both Germany and you, that is a rather childish delusion (1)."

"Russia, I see your movements. Stop or I'll just kill her and get it over with." Prussia threatened in a low voice. I could feel his other arm moving and I wondered if perhaps he had taken out his gun again.

Would Russia bother to stop?

"Prussia, do not use the chloroform." Egypt stated, disturbingly calm. I could hear his feet on the gravel, moving toward the edge of the carriage house. "It is time to go."

"Yeah, yeah. None of the good stuff. I get it." He released my hair and allowed my head to move forward a bit. His arms snaked from around my throat and for a single moment, I stood on my own two feet. My eyes immediately found the dark space of my room and the men that stood inside. They were rushing forward and it seemed that the world was moving much too slow.

They wouldn't reach me in time and the mere fact that they thought they would…was hopeless.

I locked eyes with one Nation—one among the four present. New York and America were not there.

Russia stopped short when his violet eyes connected with mine. He froze and I stared at him, wanting nothing more than to go back inside and forget this plan ever existed. His expression was desperate, asking me…No, _begging_ me not to go through with this.

My mouth opened to tell him that it was alright, that it would be fine. That everything would go back to normal one day soon. I wanted to give him that, at least. For all that he had done for me and would do for me, I wanted to give him that final amount of comfort.

"It—"

Pain exploded in the back of my head. Russia's eyes went wide. He started forward, rage starting to crest on his usually serenely happy face. There were yells of my name, anger in each of them. I couldn't respond. I couldn't think. It all happened so fast. My muscles ceased to function and it seemed my strings were cut. I began to fall, seeing the faces of the Allies fading from my world. They called for me.

Then, silence and black.

Once before, I had been knocked unconscious. Knocked unconscious—not that peaceful slipping into the blackness or that rather serene pull of chloroform. No, I mean, the violent slam of blackness with no warning. It was during a particularly rambunctious game of softball when I was eleven. I was an outfielder and not a particularly good one. While I could hit the ball rather well, I couldn't catch it to save my life. Something about my hand-eye coordination being zilch to nada. So, coach threw me to the wolves of the outfield.

Never once had a ball come my way in the air. Often, it would roll on the ground and I would use my foot to block its path before picking it up and throwing it back to the infield. Then, I would wait another hour before a ball would be struck my way again.

Well, no one could hit a pop-fly ball into the right outfield on the _Bluejays_ , our rival teams. Naturally, after an hour of upmost attention. I gave up and zoned out. The sky was particularly pretty that day with beautiful puff ball clouds and a bright blue backdrop. Lindsey Stillman was up to bat and all bets were off. I didn't even bother to look down from the sky. She hadn't hit a ball all year. A few minutes later, I was out cold. A soft ball hit me in the forehead, knocked me out, and subsequently gave me a concussion that I wouldn't live down.

People still tell that story at family reunions.

" _They still tell that story,"_ a voice told me.

Sighing, I realized that it was an Ancient. They only liked to visit when I was unconscious or near-death, it seemed. Maybe it was because they were already dead.

" _We are not dead. We are past. There is a difference. Dead implies that there is no memory that extends into present. We are still very much remembered."_ The voice was not one that I recognized. It was a deeper tenor of a woman's voice. _"You remember us. The people remember us. In fact, it is our memory that is driving this war."_

" _You mean Hitler's desire to create an empire such as the Romans? I thought that was a red herring?"_

" _No,"_ she responded easily. _"Each Nation is driven by that desire. To last for thousands of years. Though no one wants to live forever, they also do not want to be forgotten. They fear death and yet they desire it. It is the normal progression. Many of them have lived for thousands of years already. Self-destruction would be a God-send for some."_

" _Who are you?"_

She gave a light chuckle of amusement and I could feel the slightest pressure on the back of my head. The pain there was ebbing, aching and throbbing. The coolness of her fingers brought some relief. _"You have yet to meet me, Michelle. Who could I possibly be? I shall give you a hint: You care dearly for my son."_

" _Mother Egypt,"_ I said immediately.

" _Very good. I like very much that you did not hesitate. In the future, you should not hesitate. There will come a time when hesitation will be your undoing."_ Her voice was starting to become distant, like she was slipping away on a breeze. Her fingers ghosted through my hair and I kept my eyes shut tight. I could envision her though, beautifully dark skin again the white of a robe. _"Not everything is as it seems."_

" _Everything is as it seems."_ Another voice said as Mother Egypt faded away.

" _Nothing is as it seems."_

Groaning, I opened my eyes and immediately closed them again. Some inconsiderate jerk had left the light on and my entire skull seemed to pound with pain. I winced. This was so much more painful than chloroform. At least last time I was unconscious for most of the experience. This time, I just wanted to pass out again and let the chips fall where they may.

The room itself was quaint, simple. None of the extravagance that marked Austria's home. Instead, the ceiling was at normal height, about nine feet from the wooden floors. A table, a chair, a bed, and a simple armoire. The rucksack of clothes that Egypt had thrown together was sitting beside that armoire and looked to be empty of its contents. There was no window in that space, no clock. Though it felt like it was late in the evening, I couldn't say for sure without consulting a clock or the sun.

My hand rose to rest on my forehead and I felt my vision swim.

Knocking me unconscious was completely unnecessary. Frankly, I was getting _tired_ of it. Prussia was almost always the source of it, too. Should have known that he would somehow strike me unconscious before the transfer to Germany's house—at least, that was where I hoped to have been taken.

The door handle clicked as if being unlocked and a figure stepped through. I had been expecting Germany or one of the other Axis _powers_. To my complete and utter shock, a young woman stepped through instead, one that I couldn't quite recognize. She gave me a once over before shaking her head and closing the door. Her shoulder-length gold hair was tied back neatly with a strip of red fabric and she wore a khaki-colored uniform. "Good that you're awake. They were getting anxious."

I remained quiet, watching as she paced over to the attached bathroom. I heard the faucet for the bath running, water cascading into what appeared to be a claw-foot tub. She was clearly sent to get me cleaned up and I wondered just what the motivation was.

"Germany was quite displeased when he heard that you had arrived unconscious. He specifically ordered that you be brought in _conscious_ this time." She stepped out of the bathroom as I pushed my legs out from under the bed sheets. I didn't miss the way her green eyes followed the movement of my maimed foot. "Egypt gave him a full report. Prussia's been sent out to deal with Russia for the time-being. You do not need to worry about him for now."

Still sitting on the edge of the bed, I decided not to tip-toe around my ignorance. "I'm sorry, but…who are you?"

She stared at me for a moment before laughing, politely covering her mouth. "Oh! I apologize. I'm Belgium. No need to bother with my human name." Of course! Belgium had been occupied just a little under a year earlier. She nodded her head in my direction and I shifted myself into a standing position. The world began to spin. A hand caught my arm before I toppled over. "Prussia was a fool and hit your harder than was necessary. He used you as an example." I noticed that her eyes darkened a bit and I felt fingers ghost on my neck. "He did this, too?"

I reached up and felt the soreness of where Gilbert had gripped my neck. It was best to ignore it and pretend that he had nothing to do with it. Getting Prussia even more pissed off was not the approach I wanted to take. Instead, I merely shrugged and gestured toward the bathroom. "Germany sent you to…What? Make me presentable?"

Her head shook, "To make friends with you so that you would be more amiable in giving him information. That way, you could see how he treats his occupied Nations." Her bluntness caught me a little off-guard, but I recovered quickly. She smiled down at me, standing a good three inches taller. "I've been told you're smart. You should be able to figure out his motivations."

"The last time he tried the cruel approach, it didn't work to his desires. Now, he's trying the more political approach of getting into my good graces." When she nodded, I noticed the amusement in her eyes. "So he's sent you here because he feels that since we're both women, we'd bond more?"

"That," she agreed, "as well as the fact that Hungary is barred from any contact with you. Greece as well. Goodness, even Feliciano is being held back until you're more cooperative." Gently she began helping me toward the bathroom. As I walked further, the dizziness began to fade and I was fully capable of walking on my own. "Egypt has been a nervous wreck. Well, that is, I believe he has been a nervous wreck. I can never quite tell with him, you know."

"That wouldn't surprise me," I responded. The tub was full and the water looked inviting. I reached down and turned off the faucet, showing that I was willing to take a bath as she had been ordered. Relief crossed her features. "Occupied or not, y'all do not lose _yourselves_. You are merely subsumed under foreign control, right? Is that how it works?"

"Something like that." Belgium gave me a nod before stepping out. She closed the door part way, but continued to speak as I removed my clothing. It almost seemed that she was thankful for another female presence. It reminded me a bit of how Donna would sit on the floor while I showered, talking about everything that crossed her mind. "It feels strange to explain this to a human. I guess that you're in peculiar circumstances yourself. You were a victim of backfired magic." She hummed. "Normally, magic doesn't malfunction like that. Specifically, Britain's. I've known him for ages and he rarely messes up a spell."

Leaning back, I dipped my hair in the water and winced when pain shot through my scalp. "I-I don't know what happened. All of a sudden, I was here." Wait, how did she know it was Britain's magic that brought me to this world? Brows pulling together, I leaned upward quickly. Oh, she was good. Very good. I'd have to be careful with Belgium. She already had me answer her without much thought.

"So, I assume that Britain's magic can't send you back or you would be gone already."

Regardless of the undertones of just how easily she had gained that information, I felt a smile pull at my lips. Belgium was showing her prowess in manipulation and politics. After all, King Leopold was a master at negotiation. "You assume correctly. Britain cannot send me home." I said nothing more as I continued washing off. It wasn't until minutes later when I stepped out of the tub and began to towel off that Belgium spoke again.

"You should be careful. It is difficult to tell friend from foe in this household."

"I'd expect nothing less," I returned immediately. I pulled on the undergarments before slipping on the gray dress that she had sat out for me. "This is war. I can't even trust Egypt fully."

"We're Nations," Belgium said as I stepped out of the bathroom. She gave me a once over before shaking her head. Her hand reached out to take my wrist and she pulled me to a nearby chair. "When I was younger, my mother used to brush my hair out with a bone-tooth comb. She said that France and I had the most beautiful hair of all her children." When I said nothing in return, she elaborated. "You see, Gaul was my mother. Rome killed her. Well, Rome and Germania. Still, she always loved to brush our hair." She drew the comb through my wet hair, fingering the tangles out as she moved through. "We're Nations. As such, none of us are to be trusted."

"You're also people. There are those among you that I trust with my life." She was twisting her fingers around my hair, hoping to make it do something. It seemed that she had played with enough hair in her life to know when a lost cause was just that. She began braiding it a moment later. "You yourself are neither good nor bad. You're split. Just like everyone else. You just currently follow Germany's orders, correct?"

"When I feel particularly rebellious or strong, I can do whatever I please. Otherwise, you're correct. I can't go against his orders. Neither can anyone else that is occupied. It's not mindless control, but more a stringent hierarchy. Almost like that between America and his States." She said this with such calm acceptance that I could start to see just how practiced she was at handling this sort of situation. Then again, she was in a region of Europe that often broke out into war. She had seen her of me. "Egypt speaks highly of you. Italy does, too."

"Germany, I'm sure, had less than pleasant things to say."

Her shoulders shrugged. "He may respect you a bit. I heard him speaking with Prussia about the injuries you arrived with. Germany was—as I said earlier—less than pleased."

"I'm a source of information. If he has any chance of gaining that information, he knows that I must be alive to tell it." It seemed perfectly logical to me, but then I realized I was being a bit too short-sighted. I was being close-minded about the situation, thinking the upmost worst of Germany's actions. What if there was a different motivation behind it? "He anticipated Prussia's hostility, didn't he? That's why he sent Egypt. Not to cause emotional harm, but to mitigate the situation."

Belgium shrugged as she turned to retrieve my cane from the wall by the door. "I wouldn't overestimate his goodness in this. I believe that both causes were at play. It would both harm you and Egypt emotionally as well as avert any problems with Prussia's aggression." I took my cane from her outstretched hand and stood, ready to face whatever it was that I was meant to face from this point forward. When I took a step, Belgium rested a hand on my shoulder.

Her demeanor seemed to shift a bit, not leaving the calm older sisterly tone entirely but taking on the air of a seasoned veteran. She looked down upon me as a war-torn Nation. I stared back at her, hoping that I would not make an enemy of her. She was strong, very strong and extremely smart. Truly a warrior woman. A different sort of warrior than Hungary, but she held the same strength that all Nation's possessed.

"The lines between good and evil do not exist for us. There is only what our people want and what our people do. In times such as these, it is rare that we are ourselves." She smiled warmly at me then, letting me see that she was saying these things as a way to help. "This is the last that I will speak to you, Michelle. Do not anticipate help amongst our ranks. There's too much at stake."

Nodding, I showed her that I understood. "My health is not of the greatest concern. I understand."

"Perhaps not too many here, but there are those that will seek to protect you." With that said, she gestured over her shoulder and led me from the room.

Germany's home was very simple, lacking the ornate sensibilities of Austria's manor house. Instead, there was just sturdy construction. Nothing was over-the-top or gaudy and every item had a functional purpose rather than mere aesthetics. It fit his personality. Though I knew little of the real Germany that existed behind the war-front, I could see that he was a man that thrived on order and organization. So, when we arrived out into the bright sunlight of Germany's backyard, I was stunned to find several men—human men—standing at attention. Their eyes didn't glance in my direction once, save for one young man at the end closest to the door. Before them, Germany was pacing.

"Another breech in security! That is the fourth time this month! I am beginning to think that you are incapable nincompoops! You are as bad as Italy!" A couple of the men flinched at the insult. Clearly they knew of the Nations. Curiosity welled up in me. Just how did the knowledge of the Nations work in this world anyway? General populations didn't know, but it seemed a select number of humans were at least aware. Some were even in direct contact with the Nations—such as King George of Greece and President Roosevelt. "I want twenty laps. Now. No complaining. After that, you are to resume your posts for two shifts. I do not want to hear a word of whining!"

There was a round of snapped salutes before Germany turned in my direction. I glanced around to find that Belgium had disappeared back into the house. I knew that I would never see her again. A thrill of fear raced through me when blue eyes turned my way.

It was irrational, I think.

Or maybe it was completely rational.

My fear.

I took an involuntary step back when he moved forward. As he noticed that—my fearful backpedal—Germany froze in place and raised both hands.

What had I been thinking? Allowing myself to be kidnapped? Please, I was overly confident. Arrogant. To think that I could handle this sort of situation again. My already teetering sanity would topple over the cliff sooner or later.

No way out.

No. I raised my chin. Germany's eyes widened just slightly and his back became ramrod straight while both hands fell to his side. He could see the bruises, I knew. The bruises that Prussia had inflicted. Good. Let him see them. Maybe he should see what else he's done to me. Gathering my courage, I placed the cane on the ground with a click and limped forward. His eyes widened further and I saw a flicker of something there. Regret. He grimaced.

"Dr. Daniels," Germany cleared his throat and the remorse was hidden away behind his mask. "Good of you to join us." He held his hands behind his back and raised his chin. "You will find the accommodations to be more welcoming this time, I hope."

"Trying a different route for this go?" I smiled slightly. It was a little surprising, but only just. I had been worried that he would be resorting to physical torturing or more serious forms of emotional torture. This was catching me entirely off-guard. And that was likely the whole point.

"I do not want you to believe that I am evil or less than a gentleman. What my citizens do, does not necessarily equate to my nature as a whole." With a small gesture, he motioned toward what appeared to be a garden path. My brows pulled together in question. "Will you walk with me?"

I didn't move, still stunned at this turn of events. It did make some sense. Clearly, I wasn't going to cave to emotional torture like he practiced before. My feet began to move before my mind had fully caught up with these games. I would figure this out entirely before returning inside for the duration of my stay. Before anything else could come to pass, I had to figure out what Germany's aims were and what approaches he was going to take in gaining my knowledge. With those goals established, I followed him into a beautifully designed garden.

We didn't talk for the longest time. I simply moved along after him, purposefully making my hobbling a bit more pronounced. It was a cheap shot and I knew it, but I wasn't above it. Call me human. Every now and then, he would glance back and eye the leg with distaste.

"I'm just a human," I said after a few minutes of silence. "Why should you care what _I_ think of your actions? Unless, you are trying manipulate me into giving you information through this new approach of kindness."

"Still very sharp, Dr. Daniels." Germany nodded once. "Nothing will be gained with you via violence or torture. I am not above passive manipulation this time. I'm certain that you enjoyed seeing Egypt again. He was very worried about you." Even if his tone was dark and almost menacing, I still couldn't view him as entirely evil. "You'll find no friends here. Egypt is residing with Austria at this moment."

Glancing at the house windows, I felt a smile pull at my lips. "Germany, you're an old man and you have had the government turmoil to learn better skills at _lying_. Egypt lives in the third floor east bedroom. I can see him watching this whole exchange." My hand gestured up toward my friend's glare. "He's a bit protective."

Germany sighed, "Ja. This I can see. I told him to stay hidden."

Smirking, I sent him a look. "Perhaps he was feeling rebellious." My smirk faded when I realized that retribution could come to Egypt for such a show of defiance. "Please don't hurt him for that."

"Hurt—hurt him?" Germany flinched. He turned sharply. At the look on his face, I realized I had made a mistake. "How much do you care for him then?"

My jaw clenched and I saw Egypt shift in the window, watching the discussion with a hawk-like gaze. There was some movement behind him, a flash of gold in the darkness. I paid it no mind. Egypt's mouth was moving and it appeared he was talking to someone. There was apprehension in his eyes. He was scared—for me. "Enough," I answered at last.

"Enough to purchase his safety?"

This…This wasn't how it was meant to be. It was supposed to be my welfare on the line. Not Egypt's. I couldn't possibly bargain with his wellbeing or that of his citizens. It seemed the Germany was dropping the appearance of niceties and, through my own ignorance, had found a weakness he could exploit. "That's sinking a bit low, isn't it?"

"Right now, I am not above it." Germany muttered. He seemed displeased at himself for such an underhanded method. Germany respected honor and this sort of blackmail was dishonorable. Still, he did need the information I possessed. "I will start with something small then. Tell me when America will enter the war."

I froze. Since awakening, I had thought that America had already entered the war. The attack had to have been Pearl Harbor. Those screams were too pained and too loud to be anything less than Pearl Harbor. My feet moved me to the nearby concrete bench that sat underneath the autumn leaves of an oak tree. Germany watched my movements, clearly ready to swoop in if I lost my footing. I wasn't wrong, it seemed. He did feel guilt for my injuries. "You're asking me to choose between my Nation and Egypt."

Germany remained silent for a moment. "It is only a matter of time before America joins the war."

My hands shook as I drew them along the rough fabric of the gray dress, eyes skittering up to where two men were watching the garden conversation. Egypt and I looked at each other for several long moments. "I can't do that." Egypt nodded his head, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I won't do that." His lips moved and he turned to the other man in the window.

France looked down at me, eyes wide. I couldn't interpret that expression—sadness, confusion, wistfulness, anger. His blond hair swished in front of his eyes as he turned and disappeared from the window. Egypt's mouth continued to move, still speaking to the other Nation. His eyes turned back to me.

"You choose one over the other?" Germany sounded surprised.

"Egypt can handle himself," I replied as coldly as I could. Inside, I was writhing. How could I do this? More and more blood on my hands. "Like you said, it is only a matter of time before America enters this war. Whatever attack was made when I was kidnapped, that has only sped up the process. Soon. He will enter the war soon." I turned to Germany and lowered my gaze back to him. "What is the date?"

"Today," he gave me a confused look. "It is the first of November."

"October 31st," I muttered to myself. My thoughts spun to my graduate courses, hours of memorizing timelines and events. A frown pulled at my lips. I knew what had happened to America. And it did little to give me comfort. One ship. The first ship. That was what America had been screaming for. He had endured the pain of losing one single ship: the _USS Reuben James_ (2).

What would he have to endure when Pearl Harbor actually happened?

I could already hear his screams. I couldn't…I couldn't stop it.

"I'll give you something, Germany." He turned to me quickly, eyes wide. My eyes glanced up to where Egypt now had his hands pressed against the glass of the window. Worry was etched on his face. I could vaguely hear the door on the side of the house being thrown open with such force that it hit the siding. "You're going to lose this war. And if you think I'm going to give you _jack shit_ then you're out of your mind." He reeled backward, not expecting my vehemence.

"You—"

I rose to my feet, cane firmly on the ground in front of me. "I'm stronger than you give me credit for and I'm not betraying America. Or Egypt. Or anyone. Throw me to the wolves, Germany. I'm not doing it. You've wasted your time."

Germany started toward me, anger clear in his expression. It seemed that something had taken control of him, something dark. I couldn't think of it or contemplate the shift. His hand rose and I closed my eyes, ready for the strike.

As if someone was skidding on the gravel, I felt pebbles cascade onto my shoes. Someone was breathing heavily beside me, an arm snaking around my waist. I could hear the smack of skin against skin. Somewhere in my mind, I realized that whoever it was had taken the hit. There was a light grunt of pain after the strike and I felt the body flinch. There was the faintest scent of roses in the air, even though there were no roses in that barren garden. The body shifted just slightly, to block me from Germany's vision, pulling behind him. My eyes began to open.

"I would not do that, _mon ami_."

** Footnotes: **

(1) A British officer, Sir Arthur Harris, actually said this about the German reaction to bombings. It sounded like something Arthur would say.

(2) The USS Reuben James was the first neutral United States ship to fall. It was torpedoed by a German U-boat while protecting a convoy from Canada to Britain. Over one hundred souls were lost at sea. Of 159 crew, only 44 survived. America was forced to realize that there was no escaping the oncoming war by this point.


	27. Trust

_Trust not yourself, but your defects to know, make use of every friend and every foe_. – Alexander Pope

When my eyes opened, I saw something I never expected to see. I had thought that France had taken the hit for me. What with the smack of skin against skin and the grunt of pain, that was the only logical conclusion. It seemed that he had actually _stopped_ the punch with his hand. It was very reminiscent of when America had done the same thing, catching the punch thrown by Britain almost a year and a half earlier. His thin fingers were wrapped tightly around Germany's quivering fist, knuckles white.

France was grimacing with the effort of keeping the attack in place. All of that made some sense. France wasn't helpless in any sense of the word and with the Free French battling all over the world; it would stand to reason that France would be powerful enough to stop something as simple as a punch.

What I couldn't quite process was the way France was clasping onto me, still pulling me behind himself as if Germany was going to make another lunge. He was using himself as a shield, blocking any other oncoming attack. It was then that I caught sight of Germany's vengeful expression—it was dark, threatening, promising pain. I winced back, surprised. Of all the expressions I had ever seen on that stern face, hate was never one of them. France only tightened his hold, signaling that I shouldn't make any sudden movements or risk setting Ludwig off.

"You are behaving dishonorably, Ludwig. I would suggest that you control yourself." Francis' accent was thick, but understandable. His arm released my waist and he used the same hand to push me fully behind him. "Practice some of that chivalry you seem to have forgotten." He roughly released Germany's fist and threw it to the side.

The action seemed to break Germany out of whatever trance he had been pulled into and I saw him blink rapidly before his brows pulled together. "I—I—Wh-What happened?"

"You attempted to attack your _guest_. It is luck that I saw the warning signs of a confrontation." France let out a sigh of relief. "I believe it would be best if you retire for the day, _Germany._ You are not looking well. I will send Saxony with some food." He turned slightly and held out an arm for me. "You both can continue this discussion at a later time, _oui_?"

Germany gave me a cautious once over, looking distinctly unsettled by his own actions. He seemed to be looking for any damage he might have caused in his temporary psychosis. I wondered if perhaps this was because of how desperate he was becoming—that maybe he was being driven further and further into a state of warfare, where any and all threats must be dealt with. I mean, the Russian front was failing miserably. The bombings in return from the Allies were becoming more and more costly and I suspected that the mere _idea_ of America entering the war was daunting. He grunted and strode for the house.

France let out another sigh and shook his head. " _Mon Dieu_ , what a train wreck we are in." When I didn't take his arm, he reached up and brushed his fingers along my cheek. I stilled at the movement. There was something in his eyes, but I couldn't pinpoint it. "Belgium let you leave the house with wet hair? A good plan, I think, but a foolish one. She was setting you up, my dear. I suspect your immune system is not up to par."

"Setting me up to be sick? For what purpose?"

"Sick people do not think straight," he said in response. "Belgium is clever, always has been, but she will not be a problem in the future. While Germany was distracted by your arrival, she escaped. Her resistance movement is growing in power. She was able to get out." He held out an arm and I took it without hesitation this time. My head lowered and I stared at the gravel beneath our feet. "No one has told you of your beauty lately, have they?"

Jerking at the suddenness of his question, I pulled away just slightly.

"I meant nothing by it, Michelle. Only that a woman should be told she is beautiful. If you have been living with Britain and those other fools, then I suspect that you have not been paid any compliments since your time with Egypt—and I would further suspect that you had to struggle for _those_ endearments as well." He laughed lightly and held the door open, motioning for me to enter inside. My cane clicked against the concrete. "Your self-esteem has suffered greatly for their insensitivity."

"It's war," I responded. "My self-esteem is a non-point. I don't want to get dolled up and besides, I don't equate my worth to compliments." Though, perhaps, deep under the surface, he did have a point. I just wholeheartedly did _not_ want to acknowledge that petty side of myself that wanted some attention. Call me immature or foolish. Personally, I call it 'human.' Trust France to notice something like that, though. He was perceptive, far more perceptive than others likely gave him credit for.

"Oh, but I am sure that my Mathieu was supportive. I raised him to be courteous. Especially toward the fairer sex." France waved me off and released my arm again, twirling dramatically into the kitchen. " _Bonjour_ , Saxony! You're looking particularly handsome."

I followed him into the kitchen as well, confusion tugging at my brows. Saxony? Wasn't Saxony a kingdom in the Middle Ages? What in the world? My gaze scanned over the person to whom he was referring, who was placing a pan into the oven. He rose to his full height (which was a head taller than France) and turned around. My jaw dropped. This man was one of those that had been blessed out by Germany just a little while ago—one of the ones I assumed to be human.

Maybe I had assumed wrong.

Were they perhaps…vassals or something like that? His blue-eyed gaze flickered over to me.

"She's the one who Germany had Prussia steal from the Allies?" Saxony crossed his arms over his athletic chest and hummed. He wore a uniform that was identical to Germany's, indicating that he was—indeed—of German origin. Why couldn't I piece this together? Who was he? "She doesn't look like much, does she?"

"Next to me, of course she pales in comparison." France flipped his hair with a smirk. His amusement faded after a couple seconds and he shook his head. "She is the girl with knowledge of the future. Germany wants to tap that source of information. Unlucky for him and lucky for the Allies, she has a stubborn streak wider than the Rhine and is extremely loyal. I would say that she reminds me a bit of Gerberga. Do you remember her?"

Saxony turned to face me fully, a scar becoming visible along the right hand side of his face (1). He was assessing me, taking in my stance and my appearance. His lips pulled back over his teeth in a sneer. "I don't see the likeness."

"Not in the _appearance_ ," France exhaled. "You're too literal. No artistry whatsoever." I watched the exchange with more confusion than I had felt in a good long while. "Germany needs to rest. You know how he gets. Russia is taking a lot out of him, even if Gilbert _is_ taking the brunt of it." This seemed to change Saxony's posture. It became more militaristic. France shot me a glance and finally set himself to explaining. "Saxony—Otto—is a Land." When I shook my head, he glanced toward the other man and shrugged.

Otto gave me a frown before gruffly stating, "I do not have time to explain this to her. Find someone else to waste that time." Sending France a seething glare, he instead moved around the island of the kitchen and disappeared into another part of the house. I stood in stunned silence. There was the distinct feeling of apprehension in my chest.

I didn't like being uninformed. I didn't like it _one bit._ Years and years of education and teaching did that to me. I felt insecure when I was not aware of something. Still scowling, I looked back to France, who was watching me with an expressionless mien. He didn't seem too keen on explaining himself. Almost like he didn't want to put in the effort.

Instead, he raised his voice and said in a sing-sing lilt: "Saar, you beautiful Land! Come out."

Seeming out of nowhere (for I really couldn't see _where_ he had materialized from) a young man appeared—perhaps the youngest I had seen in quite a while. He couldn't have been older than fifteen or sixteen. _Physically_ , I realized. He had been called Saar, which was another name I recognized, but knew very little about. He looked a little nervous at being called out by France, but smiled over at me shyly when he saw that I was watching him. "Ja… Herr France?"

France leveled him a glower, still smiling slightly. The smile seemed a bit colder than before. This puzzled me for a moment until I realized that—despite part of the collaborate efforts—France was still very linguistically independent. No war was going to change the pride France had in his language. "I told you not to call me that, sweet Saar."

"Right," Saar nodded apologetically. "I forget. Sorry." He glanced toward me again and nodded in my direction. "Would you like me to explain then, Herr—I mean, France?" It seemed he was already well-aware of who I was because he bowed his head just a little. "Doctor?"

Instead of allowing France to speak for me, I spoke up. "I would like to understand. France called you Lands? What does that mean exactly? Is it similar to a State?" Saar looked at me, a little surprised that I had addressed him so directly. Then, almost like a kid, he rushed forward and grabbed my hands. It seemed that he didn't get the thrill of explaining things very often. From his small stature, I wondered if he got ignored a lot by the larger Nations and others. Still, the close-proximity was surprising. "Uh—"

"We're former kingdoms and countries. You saw Saxony. He's one of the oldest. We all united under Germany at some point or other. There's too much history to explain it all. Prussia, Austria, Hungary, Germany, and…H-Holy Rome. They were our leaders. Eventually, we all came together."

"I think I had a hand in this," France spoke up with a bored tone. I glanced over to see that he was looking at the dirt under his nails. He glanced up and smirked a little. "A little fake aggression never hurt anyone. A common enemy. Though, I suppose I got a little over-enthusiastic playing my role."

"Are you talking about the Franco-Prussian War?" I raised my brows. "Germany kicked your ass." Realizing that I had probably said too much to someone I barely knew, I lowered my head and quickly apologized. "Sorry. I didn't—"

"He captured my emperor," France corrected with a flippant wave of his hand. "It was an honorable victory. Come to think of it, Camp Misery was in Saar's borders. My army gave itself over to the Germans there." Saar nodded enthusiastically, clearly excited about the memory. "Could you not look so happy about it? I have had a hundred years to calm down, but that doesn't mean that I wholly forgive you for that embarrassment."

Taking France's frustration in stride, Saar looked to me and grinned broadly. It seemed to contrast starkly with the Nazi youth uniform that he wore. I bit my lip. If there wasn't dark overtones with that uniform, then I was blind. "All of us, we're the _Deutsches Reich_. Or we were the German Empire, until everyone decided that we couldn't live together anymore." Ah, now _this_ was entering into something that I knew and could recognize. I could feel France tense beside me. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, signaling that it was time to move on. "That's when I was occupied by Britain and France." There was a note of hate in his voice that made me cringe.

France's grip on my shoulder grew tighter. "It was…for your own good, _mon cher_. It's time that I take—"

"My own good?" Saar pondered aloud and released my hands as if they were on fire. My eyes widened. There was such a sudden shift in personality that it reminded me of Germany's actions. Were all of the German Lands split like this? "Are you certain it wasn't for my coal deposits? It certainly wasn't for my winning personality. All of us were torn apart because of your actions! You didn't have to separate us all from each other! We would have listened! You think we didn't learn from it? If you had just listened then—then this—"

France stood very still, hand still on my shoulder as I turned to the younger Nation. If what he said was true, he was only about twenty years old. He looked young because he was a small section of land and was still relatively young. He was still just a _kid_ , a kid that was trying to understand why he was being thrown into a world at war. He'd known nothing but turmoil, aggression, and concession since he was unified with the Treaty of Versailles, if I had any clue _whatsoever_ in German politics. What kind of impact would that have on someone?

"Pointing fingers doesn't solve the problem," I told him clearly. France's hand dropped from my shoulder, but I paid it no mind. "If I've understood anything about Nations, it's that they rarely have a _choice_. Do I think that Germany wanted to hit me earlier? No. Will I hold that against him? No. Do I think that any of you _want_ to be fighting this war? No. You have to though. Assigning guilt is a fruitless practice. It gets nothing accomplished."

Ultimately, too, the Saar would fall back into French control after the war. I remembered that much, at least. Now there was a face assigned to the region. And Saar looked stunned at my audacity, reeling backward. Then, his expression changed into one of annoyance. "What do you know, huh? You are just a worthless human. You do not belong among us! You have never belonged! Stay out of it!" He was gone quicker than I could react. He was faster than any Nation I had seen, including America.

I stood in silence, staring at where he had been standing. No matter where I stepped or spoke, it seemed that Germany was laden with trip wires. It was like the entire landscape was mined, the entire household filled with explosives. Belgium was lethal. Germany was…Germany. Even these newly discovered Lands were 'enemies.'

It was clear to me now. Clearer than before.

They were right.

I would find no friends here.

Was this tumultuous landscape that much better than a cold, dark cell?

"You shouldn't have come."

Quickly, I turned toward where Francis was standing. "What?"

He shifted into his language, muttering under his breath. " _Damn it, Britain. You utter fool_."

Clearly, he didn't think that I could understand him. Just before I spoke to him in his own language, I stopped and pressed my lips together. Perhaps it was best to allow him to _continue_ believing that I didn't know French. I couldn't trust France any more than I could trust anyone else. No matter if he had protected me from Germany. I needed as many advantages as I could muster and this was one of them.

He continued in French, " _Why?_ _Allowing this girl here. In the lion's den. All of you are idiots._ "

Plastering on a confused expression, I acted as if I didn't understand a word he was spouting and he sent me a bright smile. "Pardon me. I was simply commenting on how Britain and America could let a wonderful creature like you out of their sights." He was meaning it as a compliment, but I could see the air of subterfuge underneath. He wanted to know the _true_ motivations for my presence.

Best to keep that to myself, of course. "America was attacked when Prussia and Egypt kidnapped me. They were distracted. Didn't stand a chance."

"America was—" This seemed to startle the Frenchman and he glanced around, making sure that there was no one in the area. "Perhaps we should move this discussion to someplace a bit more…private, _oui_?" He gestured for me to follow him and I did, moving up the stairs and to the right.

My dress brushed against my legs as I made my way after the Nation, climbing the stairs wearily. Why did it feel like I had been climbing stairs since I had awoken to captivity again? Within just a short amount of time, I had already ruined all the plans I had set forth. The only item that remained the same was my search for Norway. Otherwise, this whole ordeal would have been for naught.

I would have to revise my approach. I would have to remain distant, keep _everyone_ at a distance. I couldn't grow attached. Furthermore, I couldn't allow any more weaknesses to be seen. Egypt was already a bargaining chip that could be used to gain my cooperation.

That mere idea sent a thrill of fear through my chest.

France opened the door to a bedroom at the end of a long hallway, gesturing inside. I gave a small, polite smile and stepped inside. Immediately, I was enveloped in a pair of strong arms. I recognized the scent and couldn't help but to lose my strength. All of the face that I had put on in front of the others dissipated like water vapor before a fire. My knees went weak and I felt him hold tighter, keeping me on my feet. He was always keeping me on my feet, wasn't he?

"I am sorry. I have lost the honor of my word. I swore to you that I would never allow Germany to have you again." Egypt's hand cradled the back of my head as I buried my forehead into his shoulder. It wasn't until I locked my hands behind his back that I realized I was shaking. "I was under orders. No matter how I tried to resist—"

"I've seen something similar before. It's…It's alright." It was my turn to comfort him. How could I not? Egypt was stoic, distant, and yet he was ashamed enough that he embraced me. I knew him well enough to know that that close contact was a sign of his extreme guilt. I doubted that I could offer any words of power to help him see the light of his actions. I couldn't bring myself to tell him that everything would be alright.

At this point, I didn't know.

"You will never trust me as you did before," Egypt murmured and pulled away. "Do not trust anyone here." His voice was a whispered warning, eyes flickering over my shoulder. "No one."

" _Oui_ , do not trust me either." France stated. I pulled myself from Egypt and stepped away. France was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his gray uniform. It only occurred to me now that he was not wearing his characteristic blue and red pantaloons. "You could say that everyone is in bed with everyone else here. And while normally I would find that to be a wonderful idea, when put into this situation…it is less appealing. My people have quite a large scale uprising. I have the ability to go against Germany's orders in some circumstances. Egypt does not have the resistance force necessary for that kind of rebellion yet."

He was explaining this to me in a veiled sort of manner. Explaining that I shouldn't give my trust to _any_ Nations I encountered, including himself. My head nodded and I was guided by Egypt to a bed, which was clearly his own as he sank onto the edge with me. Both Nations looked so tired, worn from this ongoing war. "Where are the other occupied Nations?" I wondered if perhaps I was too forward with that question and maybe gave away something.

I needed to find Norway.

Sooner rather than later.

It seemed that both understood my curiosity, but did not suspect it.

"Some are deployed to their homelands. Romania is off harassing Ukraine. We anticipate that she will be captured sometime soon." Egypt responded calmly, with an almost clinical voice taking over.

France was waving his hand as if swatting a fly. "That is not important. What I want to know is _why_ you said America was attacked. How so? Is he alright? He's neutral. Did he do something stupid?"

My eyes widened and I shook my head. Although I knew some of the details, I decided to play ignorant. "I don't know. One of his boats fell to a German submarine. He…He was protecting Matt's convoy." I glanced toward France's morphing expression. It went from serene to thunderous in a matter of seconds. Then, as quickly as they had come, those storm clouds filtered away. His expression was a controlled calm. "Matt's alright."

"Mathieu is stronger than they give him credit for," Francis murmured lowly. He tapped his chin thoughtfully and shook his head, blond hair almost seeming to shimmer in the light from the window. "To further answer your question, the other occupied Nations…Well, some are not trusted enough to see the light of day." He was being cryptic with that answer and I caught the significant look he sent my way. "A word of advice, _Mademoiselle_?"

He didn't wait for a response and quickly made his way to stand before me. He lowered himself to a kneeling position, taking one of my hands into his. I could see the knight there, in plain sight. The days of his chivalry were not long past; they were still very much present in the way he held himself. His eyes stared at my hand—his thumb running over my prominent knuckles. He did this for a few moments before his gaze rose to my face.

 _Darkness_.

The past was so clear in his crystal blue eyes that I felt my own eyes filling with tears. It was so utterly instinctual that I couldn't even control it. His hold on my hand was gentle, as if I would break if too much pressure was applied. France's voice was low and controlled, bearing the dignity of a king. "My advice to you, _ma colombe_ , is to find your first route of escape… and take it. Run. Hide. Do not be a hero. Do not be a fool. Do not become further embroiled in the conflict of Nations. Just leave. Never look back. Becoming involved with us, it will only lead to suffering."

"France—" Egypt began to speak up.

Francis shook his head, glancing momentarily up at Egypt. "No. Egypt, you do not know. You have never endured it. I have. And she will suffer if she continues to reside among Nations. They will forget how delicate she is. It is easy to forget how delicate they are." He reached up and gently brushed away the hair that had somehow fallen in my face. I didn't move, frozen by the depth of his emotions.

A face flashed in my mind.

One that I had seen years and years before.

A woman with short blonde hair, an armor-clad body, and a fierce expression.

She was human, too. She was so human that she—

Suddenly, it was clear. I understood.

"I'm not her, France." I said quietly. My hand seemed to regain feeling and I pulled it from his palm. Instead of withdrawing it with coldness, I instead placed that hand on his shoulder. It was a gesture of support. He was worrying for me and my safety, simply because I was human. And he knew the cost of that mortality better than most Nations. He had watched his love, mortal love, die at the hands of someone he would have to see for the rest of the foreseeable future. Someone that was sometimes his _friend_. He would always be reminded of that. To live with that kind of guilt…

France was showing a strength that few ever learn. The strength to move on after the loss of someone close. "I appreciate it. You know I'm not her, but you want to help me all the same."

"All the same," he whispered.

"Don't put us in the same category though. There's nothing similar between us. She was brave, fighting for what she thought was right. She has become the symbol of strength for women all over the globe. Me? I'm just a scared woman who wants to go _home_. Nothing more than that. Whatever brief episodes of bravery I might have are under duress." His attention flickered to my face. "I think it would be best from here on out to remain at a distance. I can handle myself. I don't need to be protected. I just have to play my cards right."

"You—What cards are you talking about?"

Thankfully, Egypt stepped in and interrupted. "France, she is right. I know Michelle. She is intelligent and has likely formed a plan. It would in our best interests to remain at a safe distance until such a time as we can render her aid." I shot him a grateful look. He merely nodded in return, his unfeeling mask back in place.

France lowered his head and stood, back painfully straight. "You…are right." His chin rose and I could see his dark expression. "You are not her. _Non_ , but you possess the same weakness she did. Not the same strengths. Never the same strengths. Weakness. You can be strong and confident, innocent and intelligent. Ultimately, your _fate_ is a weakness." With that said, he turned and started for the door. He paused though, catching his hands on the frame.

"Are—Are you saying that _mortality_ makes me weak?"

He said nothing. Egypt shook his head at me, but I wasn't about to let a statement like that go without some protest. And France knew it as well. He was waiting for my response, waiting to see what I would say to that sort of mentality. This…This was a test if I had ever seen one. France was testing me for some reason. Otherwise, he would not have waited for my answer. I didn't know what he wanted to hear, but I wasn't going to play this kind of game of wits with him.

This was getting into a level of philosophy that I didn't want to endure.

France was acting fatalistic and that was a clear sign of something strange afoot.

No, I wasn't going to play this game.

"You know as well as I do, France." He turned his head just a bit, clearly intrigued. "Mortality doesn't make me weak. It makes me strong, but you already know that… So, why ask that kind of question?"

" _Porquoi_?" He turned and pushed his hair out of his face. It was an elegant movement, almost as if to remind me of just _who_ he was. France, one of the strongest Nations in the world. With a military history that couldn't be denied. "Well, I never specified _whose_ weakness your mortality belonged to. Is it just _your_ weakness? Ah, the English language…such lack of clarity." He blew a raspberry and started out of the room. "That is for you to puzzle over, _mon amie_."

I stared after him, not quite sure what to make of his riddle. Mortality, my mortality, was the weakness of others? My lips pressed into a thin line, gaze skittering to Egypt. He stared back at me, watching as I tried to figure out France's meaning. It couldn't be that I was the weakness of the Allies. I wasn't consequential enough. No matter how many times I spun that around in my mind, it always came back to that lack of actual worth.

None of the Nations would sacrifice the many for the one.

"I will return you to your room," Egypt said after a few moments. He stood and held a hand out to me. Still distracted, I took it and allowed myself to be returned to what would be my cell—however comfortable it was for the time-being. When we arrived, he grasped my shoulders. "I will…do what I can to protect you."

"Don't worry about me," I murmured in response. Was my mortality _his_ weakness? The idea made me sick. Surely Egypt wouldn't place that much worth on my life. "If Germany threatened you with my life—"

"He already has," Egypt stated. "Why do you think that _I_ was the one that accompanied Prussia?"

I was fed. Clothed. Treated as a human. Long hours were spent locked away in that bedroom. Despite this, I couldn't complain. This was a blessing compared to how life had been when I was first kidnapped. I wasn't being actively tortured for information. It was almost as if they forgot that I was present, but still had me on their list of chores. If it wasn't for the regular delivery of food by different Lands, I would have believed myself overlooked. Those Lands never bothered with conversation. In fact, it seemed that they were very much under orders to deliver the food. It certainly wasn't by choice.

The Lands were a weakness in Germany's organization. Just like they could have been to any other Nation. They represented different regions and, if those regions fell, then it would weaken the overall Nation. I had figured that out within the first few days of my capture. Eventually, the surprise of the German Lands became a normalcy.

It wasn't until the fourth day that I was visited by a Nation.

And Germany was far from happy.

He threw the door open with such force that it snapped back against the wall. I flinched at the suddenness of it, lifting my gaze from the floor. He stalked forward and crossed his arms over his chest. "Berlin! He bombed Berlin!" Immediately, I could see that his anger was not actually directed toward me and I relaxed a little. "That…that…Civilians!"

No matter how much I wanted to tell him that he was "the pot calling the kettle black," I bit my tongue. Clearly, he needed to get this out. Though, I really couldn't fathom _why_ he was venting in my room. That much didn't make sense. I assumed that he was talking about Britain, who had a certain proclivity for night bombings. Maybe it was because I was relatively nonbiased (which was a load of bull). "You took out some of his planes though, right?"

"Of course! They suffered heavy losses!" Germany threw his hands in the air and shook his head. "Things in Moscow are falling to pieces. _Mein bruder_ cannot continue to battle in such conditions. The water is freezing before it hits the ground!"

My head nodded, but I gave him nothing more than that.

If this was a maneuver to gain my sympathy, it was failing. He was underestimating me again. By storming in like this, he was showing me "weakness" in an effort to identify with me. As good of a plan as that might have been, it wasn't going to work. Not since I was conscious of it.

"Minus twelve Celsius _does_ present cruel conditions."

Glancing toward the partially open door, I caught sight of someone watching he exchange. My brows pulled together when the person disappeared from view. Who—?

"Ah," Germany sighed and palmed his forehead. "This will not work either, will it?"

Smiling slightly, I shrugged. "It was a bit dramatic. Though I do appreciate the break in the monotony." He looked at me for a moment before smiling slightly, almost to himself. He sank into a chair at the small table and rubbed his face in his hands. "I thought I heard Italy earlier."

"He has been annoying me. He wants to see you." He gave a humorless laugh. "I am avoiding it. You are a prisoner. Not a guest. No matter what France may say. I merely gave you the accommodations of a Nation due to a deal made with Egypt, nothing more than that. And I do not go back on my word."

"Except with Russia," I smiled. On the inside though, I felt a wave of nervous energy flow through my stomach. Egypt had made a deal with Germany? Under what conditions? I had to hide that reaction or risk even more. "You broke your deal with Russia."

"Ja. Well, that wasn't my decision. Attacking Russia is always a foolish move. France tried it once. He failed. The climate is not conducive to military success in that region. It would be smarter to take Britain out."

I said nothing, nor did I give him any movements to betray my agreement. If they redirected all of the attention they were giving to Russia toward the Isles…Britain wouldn't stand a chance.

"Egypt ensured that he would follow my orders by stamping out his own resistance force. In exchange, I gave my word that you would be treated humanely."

My heart sank and my nerves were placed on edge. Surely Egypt had not made such sacrifices for me. France's words were thundering around in my mind. My mortality was a weakness. Egypt likely thought that I would die if placed in the same conditions again. And he made another deal to make sure that he was the one to accompany Prussia on his retrieval mission. He had sacrificed his own freedom and that of his people to give me the chance to survive. And had ultimately been played because Germany was planning on sending him anyway as a means of emotional leverage.

Egypt though…

He wouldn't do all of that without some sort of motivation.

He was always a step ahead of everyone else.

My gaze flickered from Germany's stern expression to a figure that was standing outside of the door. I jerked a little at the sudden presence. He stared back at me, a thin finger rising to hover over his lips. Just slightly, my head nodded. A thrill of exhilaration rushed through me when I recognized who it was. He was dully feeding me signals through the slight opened door. His dull expression never changed as he tapped his forehead and moved away.

What…the hell?

"What would you give if I allow Egypt the ability to resist?" Germany's voice brought me back to attention. My back straightened just slightly and I twisted the blanket around in my fingers. "You are not a heartless woman. Quite the opposite. It would take a lot of heart to remain so loyal. Egypt sacrificed himself for your safety. What will you give to return the favor?"

He was misinterpreting Egypt's actions. Egypt had to know that I was captured on purpose. He had to realize that America would never allow it otherwise. Even if, in the end, it wasn't on purpose…There was still that motivation there. I was in a house full of powerful Allies and I was still taken. The sheer impossibility of it…There had to be something behind that. From his point of view, I could imagine that he saw that there was some sort of plan in play. He knew more about worlds and realities than anyone else. He knew just _who_ I would seek out to return home.

And he knew _me_.

"Egypt doesn't need me to give him that ability. His people _will_ rebel. They will resist and, when they do, Egypt will gain the power to go against you. Until then, I'm gonna remain silent."

Germany looked stunned before lowering his head, defeated. "My personal question to you: Am I… Are we to lose this war? That is what you said, then, that I would lose. Will—Will all of this be…for nothing?"

"Not nothing," I responded quietly. I didn't know what else to say to him. Anything more might send him into another rage and there was no one to come to my rescue in this room. Germany could easily kill me. It was when I thought this that he stood from the chair and started for the door. His shoulders were rounded and he looked so tired. It almost felt as if he Nation were taking a back seat and the human was just another war-weathered soul looking for solace. "Ludwig, just take comfort that the war will end."

He turned slightly, nodded, and disappeared.

Letting out a sigh, I fell back into the mattress and stared at the ceiling. It would be another three days before the Allies would make their move on Germany's estate. We had agreed on a seven day delay. I just had to survive that much longer or…until I could find Norway again. My mind roamed over the signals he had shown me. Down. Three. Puzzles at every turn. Maybe there was some hope hidden in that oppressive German household. I just had to struggle to see it… and keep my mind free of the fear and despair that threatened to take hold.

** Footnotes: **

(1) Saw a pic of Saxony with a scar. Credit goes to that artist.


	28. Threads

" _In a life and death struggle, we cannot afford to leave our destinies in the hands of failures_."

– Clement Atlee, on the British handling of war in Norway

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me, maneuvering over the obstacles that blocked my path. By this point, I was in a blind panic. My sight blurred into a darkening tunnel and there seemed to be nothing more than the sheer instinct to _escape_. I had to escape. I had to get out. If I didn't escape, then what was the point? Maybe there was no point. A tingling sensation cascaded from my spine to my fingertips, goosebumps arising on my skin. Gasping, I stumbled down the hallway and came to the end. Dead end. The end.

No escape.

There was a dull ache in my side from my rushed breathing as I turned around. It was coming fast. Almost too fast for me to fathom. The obstacles in the hallway were still as death.

Yes, _death_.

It was everywhere. It had taken everyone. How many had I stepped on to escape? Everything seemed to be a blur. I couldn't remember their deaths, just that they were dead. No time. There was no time for that. I had to escape. I had to. If I didn't—

Throwing myself to the left, I lurched into the nearest room and slammed the door shut behind myself, locking it as I went. My quivering hand could barely operate the latch. Rapid, shuddering breaths rocked my body as I leaned forward to place my forehead on the door.

What more could I do? I couldn't do anything.

Nothing!

Tears burnt my eyes, trailing like lava down the mounds of my cheeks. Why couldn't I—

Sucking in a startled breath, I turned around and pressed my back to the door. It vibrated violently as if something were trying to force its way inside. Across the room, a woman stood over a single red number, twelve, her hand out stretched toward me. Blood matted her lovely blonde hair down, a gash making the skin of her neck fold over a bit. It was sickening. Bile rose in my throat. Her other hand rose in a similar fashion and a smile pulled at her thin lips. Lips that I often saw in the mirror.

"M-Momma?"

My weak legs propelled me forward, muscles burning under the moving weight. It couldn't be her. I couldn't—It couldn't be my mom. Her arms were held out to me, welcoming me and calling me home. Yet she was deathly pale. The kind light that normally shone in her eyes was dulled. "Mom, what—"

_Michelle!_

My gaze skittered to the right. Donna. A crimson number appeared under her red patent leather pumps. One. She was bleeding from a wound to her stomach, which wasn't swollen with child anymore. Terror cut through me. That's right though, her baby would have been born by now.

Right?

She looked so sad though. She looked defeated and terrified. What if she—

I wanted to move, but I was unable. I wanted to comfort her, my sister. Glancing down, I found that my feet were held in place, blood red strings and twine wrapping around my boots.

Frantically, I pulled at the red masses—desperately trying to free myself.

What was happening?

Why was this happening? I had to help them! I had to help my family!

And then we had to escape! I had to get them out of this place. My breathing quickened and quickened and quickened, tears filling my eyes.

No. Not him.

My head jerked up and I let out a sob, still pulling at the threads that tied me down. My little brother stood there, skin sallow and sunken. Two. There were so many injuries that I couldn't attribute any single one to his death. So many scratches and cuts and gashes littered his tan skin. One prominent one on his head seemed to be the worst, blood and pus was caked in it.

My scream was hysterical and shrill, "Corey! COREY!" His arms outstretched toward me in the same welcoming gesture that my sister and mother were extending. His head turned slowly, eerily toward his left.

I followed his dull-eyed gaze.

America, who bore no physical wounds. There was no blood, save for a red number that appeared beneath his feet. Three. His eyes were closed and his face contorted in pain. I couldn't move toward him. I could only stare in his direction; my tears were doing me no good. I was too tired to cry anymore. One arm rose and then the other, another welcoming hug. I released the red tentacles and stood straight, gaze transitioning to the fourth and fifth positions. My chest was hurting.

The threads were winding themselves up my calves now.

I didn't fight it.

Numbers appeared, Nations materializing over them. Britain and Canada. They looked the same as America, pale and eyes closed. No visible wounds, but pained expressions were clear on their faces. In chilling unison, their arms rose. A whimper escaped me as I spun around, eyes wide. Egypt and Russia over numbers eleven and ten. Eyes closed, mouths slightly open.

"Egypt!" My yell was choked and desperate.

He lifted his arms. Russia followed suit.

This couldn't be happening. It couldn't be happening.

_Michelle._

Chills raced down my spine. I turned around even further. Across from America was an unbelievably pale France. Same as the other Nations. My gaze scanned further around, neck creaking with the effort. Numbers on the floor: eight and seven. Hungary and Italy. Eyes closed and arms raised.

I tried desperately to see who was occupying the last space, but no one appeared. One final number: six. My efforts renewed as I tried to see them. I was growing frenzied in my effort to get free from the threads. They were creeping up my thighs now, growing tighter and tighter. I continued to jerk myself around to see the final space.

_Michelle._

I stopped, turning back to my mother. Another presence. Between Momma and me stood Germany. He was quivering, shaking violently. It was as if he were trying to hold something back, something terrible. His head finally jerked upward and he leveled a hateful glare in my direction. "You did this." My head began to shake, but I couldn't respond aloud. I couldn't find the courage. I was scared, so scared. "You did this!"

_Your hands._

My fingers released the threads and I held them out flat. I saw the blood that coated them. The scream I let out was nothing short of soul-wrenching. It held every terror, every fear, every worry, and every tear. I couldn't do anything to help them. None of them. My legs were bound. I couldn't even move. What was I supposed to do? And yet their blood was on my hands. Warm, sticky blood. Fresh. There was nothing I could do.

And yet I could do everything.

_Wake up._

Hearing the voice from behind me, I looked around and was suddenly awake. I was blind, unseeing. I surged upward in bed, legs kicking about in a frenzied rush to be free. I whipped my hands on the sheets, desperate to rid myself of the blood that coated them. "Off, off. It has to come off. I can't—I can't—" I started crying, not able to do much else.

Then, cool hands were on my cheeks and I was looking into a pair of wide brown eyes. For a few moments, I couldn't register that he was trying to comfort me. Instead, I threw his hands off my face and scuttled backward on the bed. My back hit the wall and I breathed heavily, trying to understand what was happening.

Italy looked scared.

And sad.

His hands were still held up, frozen to where I had thrown them.

Hands up, as if reaching for a hug.

I trembled at the memory.

It was too real.

Far too real.

"Michelle," Italy whispered in an effort not to spook me. "What—What happened?"

"I don't—I don't know." My head shook and I didn't make any effort to move. My eyes were still wide, seeing and unseeing. It was like I couldn't focus. My mind was still suck on the images of my nightmare.

What was _happening_?

He held up both hands and slowly sat on the edge of the bed. Ever so gently, Italy held out a hand to me. No matter how much I wanted to accept his kindness, I knew that I couldn't trust him. I couldn't trust anyone.

Even if I felt the world was crashing in on me, even if I couldn't take this anymore, I couldn't do it. I simply stared at his hand for a few moments before he lowered it to the sheets. It made me sick to see his hurt expression, but I couldn't. I couldn't accept it. "I'm so sorry. This is our fault."

"I—I don't think this is…your…your fault." And I didn't. These nightmares weren't connected to my torture, or at least, I didn't _think_ they were. Some sort of psychosis perhaps or the pressure of being behind enemy lines? Or it could have been something else entirely. Something more unsettling. Still, the Axis didn't cause this. "Italy, what are you doing here?"

"I snuck in," he smiled broadly. Normally that would be extremely amusing, but I couldn't quite smile in return. "You know me! I hear the word 'no' and I do it anyway. Germany once told me not to ride a tank like a stallion, but I did it anyway. They will tell stories about it for years! The tank's name was Baldo! I rode it until Germany made me get off and ride with him in the truck. And besides, you are my friend and as soon as I heard that you were a guest in Germany's home, I rushed over to see you."

So…he just decided to drop whatever he was doing and take a trip to Germany's? Yes, I could certainly see that happening. My shivering was diminishing and I could feel myself gaining more and more control. "You just decided to drop in? We're not _that_ close of friends, Italy."

He jerked, eyes going wide. "What? You don't want to be friends with me?"

Sighing, I could feel a headache coming on in place of my quivering. Blood pressure, most likely. My hand rose to lay flat against my forehead. "I'm not in any position to be your friend, Italy."

"Ve, don't worry about that!" My brows rose. Don't worry about it. Again with the ' _don't worry about it_.' "You are concerned about me reporting anything you say and do to Germany, right? So we won't talk about anything having to do with war! I think it helps to calm the mind and spirit when you talk about things you like. I like to talk about pasta and cooking and opera. And other things." He grinned as if he were sharing some huge secret to warfare. "That's why I talk about pasta so much. I like pasta and war can be so very tiring and scary. Sometimes it's fun to just sit back, relax, and enjoy the fine company!"

The reason he talked about pasta so much wasn't necessarily a character's verbal tick or an obsession, but his way of overcoming conflict?

"A lovely sentiment, Italy!" I jumped when France waltzed into the room. It was the _oddest_ thing when he tossed a red rose in my direction. I made no effort whatsoever to catch it, knowing that I didn't have the reflexes. It fell onto the blanket. Where in the world—Roses were out of season! How did he get a rose in _November_?

France wasted no time in cross the room to sit on my bed. He unceremoniously scooted himself back until he was leaning against the wall with one knee raised up. He looked ridiculously model-like when he pushed the hair from his face. He shot me a leering expression, a smirk curling on his lips. "Ever imagine us on a bed together, _mon colombe?"_

My eyes widened, but I couldn't respond before he kept talking.

Waving a hand toward my clothing, he tutted, "Wearing that ragged uniform to bed? No negligée? Oh, I know! We can talk about all of my wonderful experience in—"

"—musical composition." I finished for him.

Even if I was still dazed from my dream, I wasn't foolish enough to let France speak of unsavory things in front of Italy (even though I knew that Italy was likely _very much aware_ of that sort of stuff). Italy himself must have thought my intervention was adorable because he snorted a laugh and smiled sweetly in my direction.

I could almost hear my mother saying 'bless her heart' along with his expression.

Bloodied and dying. A number under her feet.

"Musical composition?" France questioned curiously. "Well everyone knows that I have the best composers."

"No! I have the best composers!" Italy immediately argued back. "You cannot argue with Verdi and Monteverdi and Puccini."

My head nodded, a smile pulling at my lips. I couldn't quite get it to appear fully, but the lilts of violins as I studied for my comprehensive examination did bring back good memories. For nearly all of my exams, I would listen to Puccini or Verdi.

"Stradella, Scarlatti!"

"Vivaldi," I supplied appreciatively. Italy threw me an ecstatic smile, bouncing on the edge of the bed. He was acting _far_ more dramatic than he needed to, most likely in an effort to make me loosen up.

It was working.

France looked scandalized, a hand coming up to rest on his forehead theatrically. Under the surface, I could feel the tension from our previous conversation still lingering. Though maybe that was just my sensitivity at the moment. " _Oui, oui_. All very impressive in their own right, I agree. However, you should prepare to be amazed. How can you argue such names as Debussy, Bizet, Massenet, Mouret, Offenbach, Stravinsky—"

"He's Russian," I interrupted.

" _Non!_ He claimed my citizenship."

"And he just moved to America a couple years ago. What's your point?" I countered immediately. "Do all of you lay claim to him?"

"They can't because he's _my_ citizen. Russia lost him. And the only reason he's living in America at the moment is due to this war! I claim him and all of his patrons would balk at any argument to the contrary." It looked as if France had found something to be argumentative about because he crossed his arms petulantly over his chest and stared in our direction. "I claim Stravinsky."

My hands— _not blood-covered_ —rose in surrender. "Alright. Please forget I said anything."

France sniffed and looked away.

Italy turned to me and smiled broadly. "You know classical music?"

"I do," I said. My eyes glanced toward France again. "Admittedly, my favorite was Bizet. Though I will say that I'm also a huge fan of Verdi and Puccini. Aida was a beautiful tale." Every now and then, my hands we would shake and I couldn't stop the movement. "Your music has always been fantastic." France sent me a sad smile. Almost as if he were unsure he would ever produce another melody. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I lowered my gaze to my hands. "Your music will always be beautiful."

Someone cleared their throat and I twitched, muscles flinching. That dream had me on edge and it was clear for everyone to see. I was paranoid, scared that every movement was something to remind me of the nightmare.

Even if I hadn't taken his hand before, Italy rested a gentle hold on my shoulder. I didn't look at him. I couldn't bring myself to. "It's alright. It's only Bavaria."

The blond Land gave us a glance, settling a tray of food onto the table. "Only Bavaria…" His muttered words could be heard clearly in the silent room. "Wouldn't be much of a war without 'only Bavaria.'"

"You're talking to yourself again," France drawled.

Bavaria just sent him a dark look before his eyes flickered to me. I felt my brows pull down in question. He just shook his head, a blond mess of hair falling into his eyes. "You had the whole house convinced you were being murdered. Your screams could be heard out in the garden by sheer volume."

The 'sorry' I murmured was reflex. He just snorted, turned, and walked out the door. It probably wasn't the right response and Lord knows I didn't feel the least bit contrite about it. It's not as if I could help my nightmares.

Italy practically leapt from the bed, running to the tray of food. He took a dramatic sniff of the air and sighed, beaming toward me. "It's _jota!"_ Not knowing what that meant, I glanced toward France to find his cheeks puffed out.

He noticed my attention and dropped the sick expression, waving his hands. "It is a type of stew. Perhaps you might enjoy it. I have…classier tastes." Seeing the insult for what it was, I struggled to get myself over to the edge of the bed and stood, grabbing my cane out of habit. It wasn't as if I really needed it in such a small space. France stood as well, gesturing grandly toward the table. "You Americans like stew, _oui_?"

"Sure," I nodded. What kind of a question was that, anyway?

Italy flailed his arms. "Ah! this is _my_ recipe! I created it while I was living with Austria and Hungary! It's got potatoes and sausage and beans and sauerkraut. " He pulled out the chair and had me sit down, echoing a time when we once shared a table in Austria's home. I wondered if he remembered that conversation. "Seems like so long ago, doesn't it?" He said in a low tone. I glanced over to see a frown on his face. "It—It—I'm so sorry for what happened. If it is any consolation—"

"Italy, do you regret joining the war?" I asked him as I ate a spoon full of the light-colored stew. It wasn't bad. The flavors melded together seamlessly, even when they seemed like they would not. When Italy froze and said nothing, I smiled into the bowl and then looked over to where he was standing. "I accept your apology, Italy. I just don't think that you should regret something that you can't actually control."

"Is that so?" France questions solemnly from where he is standing by the door. "Just because you _seem_ to have no choice doesn't mean that you cannot find _other_ means. That is like saying that you can only walk one path." I nearly had another spoonful to my mouth when he spoke again. "Germany did not have to storm into my capital and take me prisoner. He did not have parade around my streets and under my landmarks. In front of my people. He could have chosen a different method, but he didn't."

Tense silence hung over us as Italy looked between France and me. My heart was thundering in my ears as I chewed the stew. How could I respond to that? It was an impossible thing to respond to for anyone. I couldn't quite process the whole scale of what I was responding to, only that I had to say _something_.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and sorry I could not travel both. And being one traveler long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth. Then, stood the other as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim because it was grassy and wanted wear, but as for that, the passing there had worn them really about the same."

I took a breath and settled the spoon back into the stew and looked toward France. He stared at me with wide blue eyes.

So many times my father would read me this poem. Even on his deathbed, he had read it to me from his book of American poets. That same book rested on a shelf in my office in that long-off, distant community college that I once worked at, at some moment in time. Poetry was my father's catharsis. That was why I knew things about Walt Whitman and Ernest Hemingway, why I could debate their traits with New York and America. Because my father read them to me as a child. This poem, though, was the one that he could recite by heart.

By _heart_.

Sometimes you have to learn to do things by heart.

Like this.

"And both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden black. I kept the first for another day, yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back." I let out a breath and shook my head. "I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

France stared at me for a few moments and I could feel the air thickening between us. I didn't back down or look away. I didn't cower from what I had said. I wasn't even certain that I understood my words myself. I didn't do anything except sit there and watch him. Italy stood at my side, slack-jawed. I couldn't see his exact expression save for in my peripheral vision.

"What are you trying to say?" France said at last, crossing his arms. "That Germany did what? Took the road less travelled by? I assure you my roads are well-travelled. He took all of them."

"I don't know. I have never seen the roads here in Germany or the roads in France. I've never walked his paths. Just the same, I have never walked your paths. I've never watched my capital be overrun with enemy troops. I've never endured that kind of hurt and pain. I've never watched my people be subjugated to a force that cannot be stopped. The only path I know is my own. And it's the only path that I can _judge_."

He snorted, a laugh coming from his mouth as he raised a hand to cover it. "This is rich. You are a fool if you think you can understand any of this."

His statement didn't hurt. Instead, I just nodded my head. "You're right. I can't understand it. I'll never be able to understand. I have never claimed nor will I ever claim to understand it. This is beyond my ability. Maybe it's my _mortality."_

France flinched at my tone, eyes widening. He hadn't expected that.

Hell, neither had I.

Where had my self-restraint disappeared to? I could understand France's blame of Germany, but…Something still felt off. Something about all of this still felt off. Part of France was collaborating with Germany, no matter how much he wished to deny it. A scowl slid onto my face when I caught a hint of pride in France's expression.

"When are you going to stop testing me?"

Not even denying it, Francis shrugged and gave me a saucy wink. "I am deprived of decent entertainment here. You have provided a break in the overbearing air of this house. Pardon me if I get enjoyment from challenging you." He twirled on his boot heel and began to walk out. " _I am always here for you, my dear. Never forget that._ " He thought I couldn't understand him. " _Au revoir_." There was something odd about his statement of support, but I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

"France does not like to be in the same room as me anymore. I'm surprised that he stayed this long." Italy's voice brought me from my thoughts. He settled himself into the next chair over and smiled sadly. "I might have tricked him. It was for Germany, you know, and he was so desperate. He said that France was going to be difficult and I knew that France would listen to me. I…I wanted it to be quick and as painless as possible, so I helped to overtake him. They never think that I am capable like that, so they never expect it. No matter how many times the same thing happens."

Italy was confiding in me and I wondered if I had somehow become a sounding-board for these Nations. It wasn't as if they could share these hurts and frustrations with anyone else. Still, I didn't know how I felt about that.

He looked to me, desperate for something I couldn't give him. Trust. "Italy, don't tell me these things. I can't—"

"You do not have to say anything! Do not say anything. I do not want reassurance or a promise that everything will be okay. It will be okay. I know it will. Somehow. Everything seems so dark now. It all seems lost. Like there is no escape—" My eyes widened and I felt a chill run down my spine. "There has to be a way out. The war will end someday and we will all be happy again. Killing and hurting and fighting…I do not want that. No one wants that. So we will keep going until we are happy again. That's what I think."

I pressed my lips together and gave him a smile, keeping my thoughts to myself. This was the fearsome Italy that refused to hand over Jews during the war. This was the war-tired veteran who was simply tired of fighting. I closed my eyes and sighed though my nose, reaching out to take hold of Italy's hand. Just a squeeze and I released him. He flew into another rant about his witnessing Verdi's live performances as I continued to eat.

"He was so mad! Egypt had only invited the dignitaries and politicians and critics. Well, when the premiere was held in Milan at La Scala, he demanded that the general public be allowed to come and witness the performance. It sure was something to watch though! Romano was angry and said that he was a prick for demanding things at such late notice. I thought it was nice, to let everyone come see his work." Italy popped a piece of bread in his mouth while I laughed at the tale. "Everyone wanted to do Aida after that. It was fantastic. Romano just doesn't like it because it is based in Egypt."

"ITALY!"

He twitched before throwing himself to his feet. "Whoops! Looks like I've stayed longer than I should have. If Germany comes down here, he might get mad. I'll run up stairs. Well, walk fast or maybe just hurry. Anyway, I have to go. I will see you again, _bella signora_. I'll tell them to let you get some rest. You didn't sleep well. Do not give up." He moved faster than I could acknowledge and kissed both of my cheeks before bolting out the door. He slammed it so hard that it popped back open and sat ajar.

It all happened so quickly that I just sat there for a moment, staring.

The door…was open.

Within seconds, I was on my feet. My cane was held in my hand as I peered out into the empty hallway. There was no one in sight. Carefully, I eased the door wider and stuck my head out. No one. A thrill of excitement and fear raced through my chest. This wouldn't last for long. Not long at all. I had to hurry.

I didn't use my cane as I moved across the wooden floors. I didn't want the click of it to be heard upstairs. When I arrived at the staircase, I glanced up and noted that I could take my chances and try for an escape. Germany would be distracted by Italy's presence.

No, I would never get anywhere.

Not in the middle of Germany.

The mere thought of escape was ludicrous.

My eyes glanced downward and I started my journey to the lowest level of Germany's home. The lights seemed to get dimmer and dimmer as I moved into the depths, until I was in a space that was primarily formed out of concrete. The air was cool and damp against my skin, pressing in like it had when I was kept in that tiny little crypt in Austria's basement. These accommodations were better formed, but bore the same sort of feeling. The same oppressive air, the same stale thickness of old moss. Terror lanced through me as I edged forward.

There were no guards.

They never expected these people—these Nations— to escape.

My gaze flickered to a set of keys that hung on the wall and I pursed my lips, considering them for a moment before reaching up to take hold. I wrapped my fingers around and made sure that they didn't jangle together. My breath held for a moment as I took them.

I didn't quite know what I was getting into.

Large metal doors lined the corridor, painted a deep midnight black set against the gray of concrete. Just under a small observation window, a number was written. The closest was number ten. I felt a pulse of anticipation and my heart leapt in my chest. This had to be it. It had to be! My feet sped up under me as I hurried down the hallway as if that monster from my nightmares were on my heels. The only sound was the faint tap of my boots on the floor and the sound of my breathing.

_Three._

There was a tingling in my chest, right between my breasts. Like all of my nervous energy was pooling there. This was it. _This_ was what I was meant to be doing from the start. The war wasn't going to stop. It was going to get worse and worse and the effect of my mere presence…the future was being torn asunder. I paused before approaching the door carefully. My shaking hand moved up to the window and I peered inside, almost afraid of what I might see.

And there he was, sitting on the small cot at the corner of the room.

His gaze rose from the book that rested in his lap and he stared at the door, eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of me. He almost seemed to sigh. A moment passed before I looked away, toward the keys in my hand. There was a chance that I would only have a few moments. I had to make those moments count. Unlocking the door, I opened it and stepped inside. He was already standing, brushing the wrinkles out of his uniform.

Instead of the clothing that I remembered him wearing in the anime, Norway was in traditional military garb. Grayish-green fatigues and standard-issue boots. He seemed ready to go to battle in a heartbeat, even locked away in this cell. It was actually inspiring. No outward emotions, no showing of anger or sadness, just the quiet defiance of putting on a uniform. It was probably his own bit of protest while his resistance force built up their strength.

He had already shown his cleverness. By sneaking out from his cell (however he did it), Norway was already more than capable of escaping Germany's capture.

"You're wondering why I'm still here."

I couldn't help but to be surprised. His voice was far deeper than I had anticipated. Was it this deep in the English version? It didn't seem to fit with his smaller build and rounded face. He shifted then and crossed his arms, face darkening a little. Ah, well then. _Now_ I could see the baritone voice. And he was blunt. This, I could deal with. "Yes, I am."

He shrugged, "Makes sense when you think about it a bit more."

So why not give me the answer and not waste time?

Placing my hands on my hips, I shook my head and decided to just let the matter go. He was going to drag this out just because he could. No dice. "I'm certain you have your own reasons. And they are honestly none of my business." His eyes widened only a bit before he settled back into neutral. He appreciated bluntness, it seemed. Might as well skip the fluff then. "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

"Of course I do." Norway was so difficult to figure out. There wasn't much inflection in his tonality, so I couldn't really tell where I stood with him. In truth, when placing him in contrast with Egypt, the African Nation was exuberant. "And I am willing to help you."

My breath caught in my throat and I went very still. "Wh-What?" He didn't bother to repeat himself and merely gave a small nod of confirmation that I had heard him correctly. Surprised that this had gone so easily, I almost allowed myself to give into my excitement. Logic struck me like a freight train and I stopped the smile creeping onto my face. _Nothing_ was ever that easy. "Just like that? You don't even know me."

"Dr. Michelle Daniels. Age: unknown, likely mid-twenties. American citizen." His chin lifted up just a bit and there was a finally a note of something in his deep voice. Smooth as silk _smugness_. "Likely brought to this world due a mistake with Britain's magic. Details unknown. Shall I continue?" When I said nothing, he raised his brows. "You should know, I have one of the finest clandestine operation coalitions in the entirety of Europe. Hell, not even Britain can beat my agents. He just…doesn't know it."

 _XU_ , I realized (3). I could recall a discussion about it from a graduate class on resistance movements. Admittedly, I had paid more attention to the Greek and Hungarian resistance movements.

Norway was dangerous: not just for the frontal resistance that his displaced military and political forces put forward, but also for the undercover work that his operatives performed.

"You have an agent in the Britain's home?" It seemed like the only rational conclusion.

"Not quite," he actually _smirked_. That single action sent cold chills down my spine.

A Viking, that's what he was. A conqueror. This wasn't some downtrodden Nation who was going to take the battles lying down. No, he was positioning himself to be like a cancer. That's why he was staying in the German household—mirroring the work of his citizens. He was gaining intel and passing it to whomever he needed to. If anything, he was a saboteur—playing with the strings and then cutting them.

Suddenly, Norway seemed a lot bigger.

"Do you know who else is housed down here?"

My head shook.

"My brothers." He moved forward, pushed past me and shut the door with an ominous 'clang.' My heart leapt into my throat. "Privacy. I don't want them to hear." That wasn't quite what I was worried ab— "I can reopen the door at any time. No problem. Have a sit."

Hesitantly, I made my way over to his neatly made cot and lowered myself onto the edge. I kept my senses as sharp as I could, keeping an eye on him at every movement. He sighed a little and made his way to the opposite wall, lifting one booted foot to rest it against the wall as he leaned back. His arms crossed and his head bent forward.

"Denmark was occupied in April of last year. Same as me. Same day. His government remained within his borders and developed an…uneasy relationship with the Germans. He is housed down here because of his _potential_ for resistance. As annoying as he is, he is very good at getting his way and he's realistic. He saw what happened to France." His blue eyes closed and he sighed. "Well, I never said he was smart."

"Spies," I murmured in understanding.

His eyes opened and looked at me. "Spies. I have heard that a large percentage of British intelligence concerning German activities hails from Denmark's group of rebels."

"Hence his presence in one of these cells."

"Not enough to walk free, but enough to be dangerous. Germany knows that if the resistance—violent or otherwise—grows in Denmark, he will have to label the territory as 'hostile,' which I believe he wants to avoid. Denmark is supplying a large number of volunteers for the war with Russia. It'd be stupid to lose that resource too soon."

Norway was speaking far more than I had ever believed he would. War was clearly something that he knew a lot about and I felt as if I were in a classroom again, listening to the inner workings of a distant time.

His head shook and I realized that he had been thinking all of this over for weeks or months. Ready to reason it out aloud, but unable to do so. It must have been torture to sit in silence, unable to help your people or your family.

Something similar had driven me to the brink of insanity.

And I still wasn't sure that I was back from that brink.

If the dreams were any indication of my mental health…

"Iceland is here as well," he said at last.

I froze, stomach lurching.

"Wh-what?"

That couldn't be possible.

"Iceland," he stated clearly, "is here as well."

"But Ice—Iceland never fell to Germany. They…I mean, he was invaded by Britain and was officially neutral throughout the war. America-"

"Perhaps that was once the case, but no longer." Norway frowned, pushing off the wall. He strode over to stand in front of me, the oppressiveness of his proximity and stance made it difficult to breathe.

That, and the fact that another change was coming to light, one that I couldn't fathom. One that couldn't—This shouldn't be possible. It was something that I had never considered before. I had never heard of Iceland being overtaken in this timeline. There were no official reports of it. I had scoured the newspapers for evidence of changes. How could Iceland have fallen?

Never. I had never even _seen_ him or anything close to his land.

Most of the changes were limited to the North African front, so how—

"You," Norway muttered. His tone wasn't harsh or hateful. It was measured and exact. Clinical. Robotic. "The threads of this world are all interconnected. All of the threads of past, present, and future connect together (4). Because of your presence, those threads that once existed are no longer there. New threads have taken their place. One of those new threads has been wrapped around my little brother's neck." He looked down at me. "You want to know why I will help you. Don't be a dumbass and figure it out yourself."

** Footnotes: **

(1) _Jota_ is a type of Italian stew in the northern region of Italy. Italy doesn't only eat pasta, just like America doesn't only eat hamburgers.

(2) The Italian dictator actually had a Jewish mistress and refused to hand over Jews to the Nazis. That didn't stop Germany from killing hundreds of thousands of Jewish Italians anyway.

(3) XU was an intelligence and sabotage organization in Norway that was organized after the invasion.

(4) This idea of "threads" is connected to Norse mythology. The Norns control the threads of fate. It is a common world myth that I felt would connect everything together. The myth itself is a fair bit more complicated. More on this will come to light later.


	29. The Great War

_The point in history at which we stand is full of promise and danger. The world will either move forward toward unity and widely shared prosperity - or it will move apart_.

– Franklin Delano Roosevelt (February 25, 1945)

Straightening my shirt, I glanced in the mirror and forced a smile. My lips quivered with the effort. After a moment the struggling smile fell away and I just stared at myself. No judgment of my appearances. What did it matter anyway? It didn't. My dishwater brown hair was just barely to my shoulders now. I was no longer a _ghost_ of my former self, I realized. I was another person entirely. The woman who arrived in the annex of Britain's home all that time ago was a different person compared to the prisoner in Egyptian military garb that stared back at me. It didn't bear thinking on or examining. I didn't have the time for it. As time progresses, people change. I was not exempt from that.

The handle to my bedroom began to jangle and I froze for a single second, sucking in a breath. Quickly, I hurried myself over to the bed and sat, leaning forward and sweeping my hands into my hair. I pulled the captured strands with such force that tears sprung into my eyes.

It wasn't enough.

I needed more than this. I needed to think on something that truly terrified me, something that could spur my emotions into a near-uncontrollable mess. I needed to lose composure.

Momma. Corey. Donna. Blood. Blood. Blood.

Despite myself, I felt my nerves fraying at the memory.

Because it still felt real.

I could still feel the blood between my fingers, sticking to the skin.

Bile rose up in my throat and I let one hand release my hair and travel to my neck.

And all the others.

Their arms rising to embrace me, eyes unseeing. Dead.

What did all that mean anyway? Did it mean anything?

Was it just some metaphor in my mind for the war that was raging on battlefields across the world? Was it just…echoes? Was it my own insanity or something else? I didn't know and the not knowing was driving me mad.

Even though this was meant to be some sort of dramatic act, it was quickly taking on a life of its own. My tears were falling in torrents now and I couldn't make them stop. How pathetic was I, to lose it like this even when I had started on purpose? When I was trying to _act_ weak and insecure. Maybe it would help though. Make it look more authentic. Maybe it would help me reach my goal. The tears were real. The panic was real. The terror was real. At least I could avoid lying outright. I had lied enough in my time here.

I hated lying, however necessary it was.

When he knelt in front of me, a new wave of tears came, but they were tears of joy.

And thankfulness.

This wouldn't have worked with anyone else.

Just him.

He reached up and brushed the hair from my face, bringing the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tear trails. He could be so very gentle, so caring. I could see the hurt this was causing him, how much he wanted all of this to just be over. I could see it in the way his shoulders were hunched and his hands quivered. " _Bella signora_ ," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. We did this to you."

What he was apologizing for, even I didn't know. My imprisonment? Perhaps. The war? Maybe. Was he even apologizing to me or was he apologizing to someone else: to people everywhere who were trapped in various situations due to the atrocities of battle. I could feel that gravity there in his voice.

The weight of it was crushing.

"Italy," I murmured in a helpless tone. Helplessness came easily to me, far too easily. I didn't like it. I didn't like the feebleness of my own voice. "I—I need to get—get out." Maybe it was the fact that tears were in my eyes or maybe it was that he still remembered my terrible nightmare. Whatever it was, Italy nodded his head rapidly, waving his hands in front of my face. He would give me whatever I needed. "It's just…I feel like I can't—can't breathe down here. I can't breathe."

What was more terrifying to me was the disturbing fact that I was at the point that I didn't feel the least bit of actual _guilt_ for manipulating him. What did that say about me? Had I become jaded? Yes. I had. I was not above using whatever means necessary to reach my goals now. I was not above appearing vulnerable or feeble. Whatever I had to do, I would do it. There was no other choice, after all. There was never any choice.

Norway had told me as much. He said that I would have to sacrifice. He said that I would have to steel myself to a resolve that I only barely possessed.

He didn't think I was capable of it.

Since I started on this path, there was only one way it would all end.

That was abundantly clear to me now.

Norway could doubt me.

The only way I could respond to his doubt was to come through with my end of the bargain.

I sat quietly, watching as the planes flew overhead. One after another after another. How many squadrons? Five? Twelve and twelve and twelve. Their shadows danced across the landscape, over hills and valley and trees. Over me and that barren garden. I pulled the sweater tighter around my body, the rough wool cutting at my skin. My fingers tingled with anticipation as the whirring sound grew louder and louder and louder. Again and again and again, they zoomed past. Hurricanes. Aerial bombers. Their mere presence seemed to make the air thicker—with the knowledge that soon, someone was going to die. Many. Hundreds. Thousands. It wasn't until they were on the horizon and that whirring sound faded that I began to tremble.

"Berlin," a voice told me. "They intend to bomb Berlin." Egypt came to sit on the bench next to me and silence fell over us once more. It was a silence filled with the implications of war. Italy probably annoyed Germany into allowing the African Nation to guard me.

Bless his heart, Italy was the most sweet of all those I had met in this world. He had helped me out into the garden and draped a sweater over my shoulders before declaring that he would 'talk' to Germany about allowing me out more often. Not that it would be necessary. I was still thankful to him. I would always be thankful for the friendship that he provided, even in the darkest of times.

The descending night brought the lightest chorus of crickets and the air was cooling rapidly, chilling my skin. Egypt glanced in my direction, but I kept looking forward. "I can sense that there is something you are not telling me." His voice was calm, but tight.

Trust him to sense something amiss.

Of all the Nations here, he knew me the best.

Giving a single laugh, I turned to look at him. "What gives you that impression, Egypt?"

"You are too quiet. Far too quiet. You have been for the past day. You will barely speak to anyone, even Italy. He worries for your health. Ever since that episode…" He glanced at me then looked away again. His green eyes were trained on the horizon, over which the planes disappeared. I knew he was referring to the nightmare. A day had passed since that 'episode,' as he called it.

A day since I had spoken with Norway.

The feeling between Egypt and I was almost peaceful, almost what it once was when we would spend hours quietly talking. When we would sit on the veranda and watch the Egyptian sun set over the orange-tinted horizon.

I wondered how long we could just stay like that. Him. Me. Just us. In peace.

" _I_ worry for you as well," he said.

Smiling slightly, I nodded. What I was planning…It was for him as well. If I didn't tell him now, then the chance would never present itself again. The time was fast approaching, far faster than I'd ever thought possible. It was all happening so _fast_ that I could barely catch my bearings. He gave me a day to prepare and I was in my last hours already.

"I know. I know that." Though I knew it was against it custom, I reached over and took Egypt's hand. He stiffened at the contact, but did not draw away. "I… I care deeply for you. You know that, right? I mean, I love you."

He stared at me for a few moments before looking away, toward the house. His fingers curled around mine, tighter than I expected. "I know," he said at last. "You—You have found your path then? The path to return to your…true home." I didn't bother to answer him. To answer would be to give him something to tell Germany. It was best not to give Germany any more ammunition than what he already had. Lord knows the man already had too much ammunition. "I had guessed as much. Soon?" When I didn't answer, he turned to me and gave me an almost crooked smile. "Smart, Michelle. You are not giving me answers so that Germany will have no material to get from me. You know that he will not ask for my _impressions_ , but for the facts."

My shoulders rose and fell, but I grinned despite myself. "You have to know what questions to ask to get the answers you seek."

Egypt nodded, averting his gaze to the darkening horizon once more. "The Allies will strike tonight."

" _No_ , _they will not_." I replied in Arabic. Surprised, Egypt—my dear friend—turned to face me and gave me a monotonous stare. So, it seemed he was _very_ convinced that the Allies would make their play this evening. It was almost sad to disappoint him. He seemed to be anticipating it. Almost _looking forward_ to their arrival. I continued in his language. " _If they were to come_ , _they would not be due until tomorrow night_."

By then it would be too late.

"You have gotten better. Much better. Still having problems with plurals."

Always something to improve on with Egypt.

"Could...could you tell them something for me? When all of this is over?"

He turned to face me fully. "Of course."

"God, I'm so grateful for you." I sighed, feeling my chest ache, gripping his hand like a lifeline. A thin smile pulled at my lips. "You're a far better friend than I could ever hope to have. It's so strange how much you will speak to me now. Barely a few words to _this_." He looked away and I did the same, focusing on the horizon. "You took me in when I had nowhere else to go. You spared me when you could not spare yourself. You suffered an ignorant human woman who was nearly broken and you've become my confidant and—if I _were_ to leave, I would miss you." He didn't look to me and I didn't look to him. We just sat there, watching the sky darken. The chill of the November air was growing colder. I glanced up to keep the tears in my eyes and sighed. "Tell them that I love them, please. Tell them that I will miss them, too."

My voice was quivering as I tried to remain calm.

Why couldn't it have been so easy when I needed to fool Italy? Instead of dredging up nightmares…

Egypt was quiet, listening intently to what could be my last requests.

Last requests. What finality.

"Tell America," I sighed.

My nose twitched. I wanted to tear up further, to cry outright, but I knew that I couldn't. I didn't need the suspicion if anyone else came around. I needed to keep my emotions in check. And furthermore, I didn't have any _right_ to cry. Not after everything that Norway had told me. _That all of this was my fault_ , just like I had known it was. Being told that so bluntly, it gave me some peace. No, I needed my strength—the strength I had gathered over the past two years. I wasn't just some weak school teacher anymore.

"Tell America that he... was a brother to me. That he’s my hero. And he always will be."

"He will be…upset."

I snorted. That was an understatement and a half. "Yes. He will—would be very upset. He didn't want me to—Well, he wouldn't want me to do anything dangerous."

"And is…might it be dangerous? Whatever you may be planning to do?"

He caught on to my usage of hedging terms. Using 'will' implied that something was imminent. Instead, 'would' and 'might be' were more uncertain and Egypt could easily pick his way around direct answers if he were questioned by Germany. I smirked as he released my hand. I placed it onto the top of my cane.

"No more than anything else," I responded easily.

It wasn't the danger that had me nervous. It was the uncertainty.

Other than certain factors, I didn't know anything of what was coming. I felt as if I were standing at the ledge of a great precipice, ready to fall—only I wasn't sure that I had a parachute. Still, I had little choice. I had to jump. I had to take the risk. Norway would have the answers in a few hours, when he was to break me out of my room. Not too long and I would know.

"I'd say that no matter what, I'm in danger." I shook my head. "Eventually, Germany is going to grow impatient. When that time comes, I'll be his target. You know that, too. I've been lucky so far. It won't last much longer."

Egypt hummed in agreement, moving to stand. "Am I to assume that you are keeping this from France as well?" There was something in his voice that made me look up. His face was carefully blank, but I knew him far better than that. When I pursed my lips at him and raised my brows, he merely shrugged. "You do not trust France?"

"No one _should_ trust me, _mon cher_."

I was on my feet in an instant. My heart was thundering in my chest. His voice came out of the darkness, a light chuckle accompanied it. It made a chill run up my spine. In the dim blue light of sunset, France stepped out from behind a tall bush nearby, arms folded into a thoughtful position as he tapped his scruffed chin. Egypt shifted slightly to the left and made himself an obstacle between France and me.

France smiled. "Well, isn't this adorable? Honestly, _mon cher_ , you were never the chivalrous sort. Though, I must tell you that the act is very attractive." He was drawing out his words in a teasing lilt. "I commend you, Michelle, you have broken through Egypt's lovely little shell."

"You are not welcome here," Egypt said after a moment. I jerked in surprise. That wasn't what I had been expecting. Neither was France expecting Egypt's outspoken response. This was perhaps the angriest I had seen Egypt since meeting him. "Leave…traitor."

"Traitor is such a harsh word," France laughed. It sounded strained though, like the word had actually hit him in the stomach like a punch. "Do we really need such arbitrary labels? You know as well as I do, Egypt. I didn't order the Vichy into your borders. I can't control it. It controls me. _I do not belong to myself._ " He glanced to me and smiled. "Michelle, you are versed in history. Tell me, do you think I have a choice?"

When I didn't answer immediately, he brushed a hand through his hair and sighed.

Stepping around Egypt, I placed a comforting hand on my friend's shoulder. I was telling him to stay there, just in case I needed him. His head nodded just slightly and he made no other move to keep me back. He knew that he could not, so he didn't bother to try. France brushed a hand through his hair again. Was it a nervous habit? "From what I have witnessed," I said, "I don't think you have much choice. You do have some direct agency, but in the grand scheme of things, you don't."

" _Egypt_ didn't save you. Muhammed did."

"They're the same though," I responded immediately. "You can't separate one from the other."

"Is that why you refer to us by both names? Both human and Nation? Because our human and Nation sides cannot be separated?" France sounded genuinely curious and I nodded my head. "You've never called Egypt by his human name."

"Egypt has specific preferences and has made me aware of them."

Why did this exchange feel similar to any discussion with Britain? The irony was staggering. You couldn't get anywhere with either of them. France watched me for a few moments before sighing, shaking his head. Something flared in me: irritation. Throughout my whole stay here, he has played with me like some toy for a bored child.

Well, I wasn't some plaything.

Playtime was long over.

"You can't excuse _your_ actions by your people. If you do, then you're setting a double-standard. If you throw up your hands and argue that you have no choice, then you have to give Germany that same benefit." He froze, blue eyes going wide in the dusk. "I don't know what games you've been playing with me, France. I don't know if you were trying to teach me or to terrorize me. I don't know your motivations. All I know is that you can't excuse yourself and condemn another. That's not fair."

"Mademoiselle," France smirked. The action had me stepping back into Egypt, who caught my arms. He stood firm behind me, obviously not willing to retreat under France's advance. "I know all too well how unfair the world can be. As for my motivations?" He reached forward and took my chin into his fingers. My brows pulled together, but I said nothing and did nothing. "I was merely opening a door. Contradiction can open doors, you know. That is the polite thing to do for a lady. Open doors for them (1)." He smiled (and for the first time since I arrived I felt like that smile was true) and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my forehead. "You are smart. I trust you to do what is right."

It hit me then.

His motivations.

The reason he was acting so contradictory. It wasn't just because his people were split on the issues. It wasn't some sort of split-personality. He still had some agency. He was still _him_ and he was doing this on purpose. "You were playing Devil's Advocate. Opening doors. You _were_ trying to teach me."

"Not quite. You make it sound so noble." He stepped back and glanced to Egypt, who was still grasping my shoulders. "You can relax, _mon cher_. I would never harm her. Unless you are more concerned with _her_ hurting _me_. I do not see any readily available American baseball bats, so I believe I am safe."

I snorted despite myself, "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

" _Non_ ," he answered truthfully. "Anyway, I was merely trying to open your eyes to things that you perhaps have not considered before. First, it is possible that you have forgotten how your mortality can affect those around you. Or your mortality in general. Being around…creatures such as us can make a human feel invincible. I know. I've seen it. I've witnessed the consequences of such arrogance and ignorance."

He could have been referring to anyone. Any historical figure in his history.

"Second, you should know that Germany and any other Nation, we are capable of terrible things by our _own_ merit. All humans are capable of terrible things. We've been at the mercy of time, Michelle. We try to avoid being cynical and hateful, but…as you argue, there will always be a part of us that is purely human. Hate and malice and darkness can take control sometimes and we are helpless to stop it. So, we seek the quickest way to end wars and we take them, no matter the consequences. No matter how terrible or how cruel. No matter how we will be remembered…"

How many wars and raids and battles and losses and victories was he speaking of? How many terrible plots and wicked schemes? How many victory marches and death tolls? How many overthrown governments and rebel causes?

"And finally," France sighed, "I wanted you to realize that—while we are compelled by our nations to certain actions—we are not restricted so much that we are no longer ourselves. We are our nations, yes, but we are also people. We're at the mercy of circumstance, just like everyone else. Therefore we make decisions of our own—how best to protect what we deem important."

I thought about the implications of his words. _How best to protect what we deem important._ "Meaning that you are _choosing_ to remain here and not with your Free French forces," I responded. And it made sense. I had come to understand that sort of positionality.

It was a strategy that I had drilled into my mind by Norway. He had made me abundantly aware of the motivations behind his presence and behind the presence of Denmark and Iceland.

To help and protect each other.

Others had to have similar reasons.

" _Too smart_ ," he muttered in French.

No time like the present. What good would my knowledge do now anyway? This was one Ace that I could show. _"It's your way of gathering information and practicing some control on the situation. I think I understand that now in a way I couldn't have before…Thanks to you."_ His eyes went wide when I spoke his language. A smirk pulled at my lips as Egypt released me. My hands rose to rub my arms. Egypt's hold had been adamant and fierce, likely bruising my skin. _"Don't make assumptions about those you don't know, France. That's my lesson to you."_

" _You speak French!"_ Francis crowed as he pointed at me theatrically. "What? What the hell? What the actual he—You can't do that! You pretended _not_ to know my language!"

I shrugged, "Best to keep that kind of stuff secret." I felt Egypt tugging at my sleeve and he motioned vaguely toward the house. It was getting too dark to stay outside. The whirring of the plane engines was long past. Not too long from now, the sound of explosions would echo over the countryside. He didn't want me to witness that, I knew. He didn't want me to hear the sounds of the war. Even if I knew those sounds already. Even if I knew what the results would be. "I appreciate your words, France. You know the ones I mean."

_I will always be here for you._

I saw him staring at me with an almost new appreciation. France grinned, "You always knew. You knew that I—I meant what I said with positive intentions. You—You knew the whole time."

"Didn't stop me from being a little nervous of you, I'll admit. You're still under Germany's control. I can't trust you because of that, but from your French statements, I gathered that you were not _actively_ trying to harm me. I figured that you were testing me, readying me for something that I didn't know of yet. Or just playing with my mind." We stepped into the house, directly into the empty kitchen. It was unusual for the kitchen to be empty in Germany's house. If anything, I had learned that Germans loved to eat. " _Thank you for everything, France. For opening my eyes."_

" _You're…You're welcome, my dove."_

" _I never understood that. Why 'dove?'"_

He just shrugged, smiling widely. "Why not?"

"Touche." I turned to face them, feeling the butterflies in my stomach go wild. This would be my last time speaking to them. If everything went as planned…

It was Egypt that I was having sick feelings over though, not France. I was not close enough to France. Egypt though…If my leaving didn't trigger a change to revert the timeline, then he would continue to suffer at the hands of the Axis. If this didn't work, then he would continue to be hurt. That mere _idea_ was enough to make me nauseous.

He nodded his head to me, almost like a bow. Egypt could sense my nervous energy, his gaze flickering toward the cane. I looked down as well, seeing how white my knuckles were. When I glanced up to him again, he pressed his lips together and shook his head. _Don't worry_ , he was telling me. _Worry does nothing._ It was all the reassurance he could give. We didn't need words anymore.

There are some friendships that do not require words.

The air in the room seemed to shift and I saw Egypt stiffen, stepping forward to place himself between me and someone else again. The action was growing repetitive this evening. And it seemed that even France had picked up on Egypt's protective actions because he smirked down at me and shrugged his shoulders. When I was able to turn around, I found a confused blond standing in the doorway with his mouth slightly open. My body seemed to seize at the very sight of him and I instinctually took a step back, accidently catching my un-injured foot on the kitchen island. That imbalance sent me toppling in the opposite direction. I thought I saw Germany's hand reach out as if he could stop me from falling, but then all I saw was the ceiling.

My eyes shut and I let out a startled yelp before a strong pair of arms caught me and the rumble of a laugh was in his chest. Both feet planted themselves on the ground, but I still remained in the hold of someone. It wasn't the most graceful position, but at least I was saved from a collision with the floor. My eyes eased open and I was met with a grin—a cake-eating grin.

He was entirely too amused with this situation.

" _Let me up, please."_ My request was met with a laugh. Not just any laugh. The stereotypical French 'ohonhon' laugh from the anime. If he wasn't holding me, then I knew he would be doubled over with that laughter. Entirely too amused. A flare of glee welled in me as well, but for different reasons. If Britain saw France holding me like this, Francis would have boasted two black eyes. Good thing Arthur was nowhere around. _"Thank you for catching me, Sir Francis. Now, let me up."_

" _Oh Mademoiselle,"_ France chuckled. " _You are always such fun. Be careful though. The foundation here can be uneven and it can be dangerous for your gait."_ My brows pulled together immediately. There was a flash of warning in his blue eyes before he gave me a close-lipped smile that didn't reach those eyes. He sat me upright and brushed his fingers down my shirt—avoiding my chest like a gentleman—to straighten out the wrinkles. It was a gesture of sincerity, I realized. This was his way of preparing me for something.

"Dr. Daniels," Germany's voice cut through the moment.

Preparing me for battle.

I turned to face Ludwig. He looked to be in pain now that I had given myself a moment to really _look_ at him. _The bombings,_ I realized. One wave had already struck. "I would like to speak with you." My head nodded and I turned toward him, resting a hand on Egypt's warm shoulder as I moved past. My heart fluttered in my chest. The last time. The last. I took a couple more steps before the pain disappeared from Germany's face and he became emotionless. The change was instant and frightening.

"Stay where you are, Egypt."

I stopped and spun, watching with wide eyes as Egypt struggled against the order. He was trying _so hard_ , gritting his teeth. If he had been the sort, he would have grunted with the effort. He was trying to get to me, trying to _fight it_.

"I am ordering you to stay where you are."

Egypt's hands fisted and he was now shaking violently, as if he were pushing against some invisible wall. His green eyes connected with mine and I felt myself weaken. He looked so desperate, so worried. Someone grabbed my shoulder and I realized that Germany had stepped forward to close the distance between us. I almost thought I heard Egypt snarl.

"Egypt," I murmured. I had to get him to stop before he hurt himself. Or before Germany hurt him. "I'll be alright."

Germany pulled at my arm and I saw something _break_ in Egypt's eyes. Something snapped within him. I could sense it just like he could do the same with me. I could feel him fracturing right before my eyes. It was agony and there was nothing I could do to help him. I felt my mouth open, but Germany cut me off. "You are not to leave your quarters, Egypt."

My friend was still shaking, still fighting. I continued to look back at him, even as Germany began to drag me away. The blond even took my cane from me so that we could move faster. He was anxious to get away from Egypt. My mouth moved, but I made no sound. This could be the last time I would ever see him. _I love you_ , I mouthed. He stood in the light at the end of the dark hallway, France watching his back with a concerned expression. A sick feeling entered my stomach. The last time. "Egypt." His head dropped forward with defeat, but he continued to quiver.

Just before he disappeared from view, I thought I saw him take a step forward, but it was probably my wishful thinking.

"You have a loyal friend in Egypt," Germany commented after a few moments. I said nothing in return, holding onto his arm as he moved us through the house. It was a section I had never been in before and that unfamiliarity made me nervous. "You inspire loyalty _because_ of your loyalty. I believe that is how it works."

"Not just because of my winning personality?" I questioned with a note of sarcasm. "Forgive me, Germany, but you haven't seen the best of me."

"You haven't seen the best of me either, if we're being honest." Germany shook his head. "I have seen the worst of you. Sometimes it is the worst that shows the best in people." His compliment stunned me and he sent me a look before bringing us to stand before a wooden door. It was unmarked and that fact alone had me anxious. He must have noticed my apprehension because he sighed, "I will not torture you, Dr. Daniels. That is not why we are here."

He opened the door and gestured inside. I forced down my fear and raised my chin, stepping inside the dimly lit room. Immediately, I was pulled into a pair of strong arms. It was only when this person began jumping excitedly up and down that I realized it was Italy. He pulled away a moment later and laughed at my surprised expression. Bewildered, I looked toward where Germany was striding to a desk at the far end of the room.

This was Germany's office, I realized.

The desk lamp provided some light, but moonlight also filtered in through the windows. Wood floors, tame cream colored walls that were whitewashed with the moon. Italy slipped his hand into mine and led me forward, treating me with as much care as he always had.

"Germany wanted to ask you some questions. I thought it would be better if he asked you up here instead of in that dark and scary basement of his. Did you like your time outside? I sent Egypt to guard you, you know. I thought it would be nice if you could talk. I was told that you're friends. I always think that friends help with anything." I settled myself into a chair that sat opposite of Germany's desk and crossed my ankles, folding my hands in my lap.

I wondered if I looked like a woman from the forties then: ankles crossed, hands folded. It had been so long since I lived in the twenty-first century. Even my mannerisms in sitting had changed in that amount of time. I had to break my habit of crossing my legs quickly after arriving in the past. Women were held to high standards of propriety, especially teachers—since they influence the next generation. Crossing legs was considered promiscuous. Crossed ankles showed modesty.

"Britain is bombing Berlin as we speak." Germany stated as if he were detached from himself. As if he couldn't feel Berlin burning. "My fighters are taking out as many as possible."

How did he want me to respond to that?

He looked me over before glancing to Italy. There was something strange in his eyes: anger, despair, insanity, disappointment. I couldn't quite figure it out. He glanced away again, gaze settling on the doorway. "My soldiers destroyed a Russian hospital ship."

Italy gasped and I felt myself twitch, muscles acting on my thrill of terror. "No!"

A hospital ship? But that—

"It was escaping from the Crimea. It sank in under four minutes." His face was showing everything from remorse to unbridled anger. His gloved hand rolled into a fist and he slammed into the desk. I jerked in surprise at the sudden action. In my peripheral vision, I saw that Italy didn't jump. Of course, he was a hardened warrior underneath that mask. "Do you know anything of this? It has already happened. You can speak of what has already happened, can't you?"

Eyes wide, I tried to recall anything I could about a sunken Soviet ship. There were so many ships lost during the war, it was difficult to remember. Shaking my head, I closed my eyes and tried to work my way through my notes on maritime disasters during the war. Thousands upon thousands were lost at sea, from the Pacific to the Atlantic, from the Baltic to the Indian.

This particular wreck had to happen in the Black Sea, if they were escaping from the Crimea. That limited the field down to a few hundred. How could I figure this out? Even _that_ was an extensive number.

"Well?" Germany sounded frustrated.

I held up a hand. "It's not like I'm divining this. I'm trying to remember something. Give me a moment."

"I think she's telling you to shut up, Germany!" Italy laughed.

Of course, Germany shouted something angrily, but I tuned him out.

I wanted to know what had hurt _Russia_. How many had been lost…Lost…Only eight survivors. I could remember this. I knew this. I knew this. Why? Why could I remember it? It was so obscure, so lost in the other tolls of the war. A paper. It was a paper—a poorly written paper, actually. Bad grammar, good ideas. My third year teaching. A girl with a thick plait and a love for people—a love for helping people. She once told me how much she wanted to become a medical doctor. She begged me to pass her. I did. Just barely. Lydia. She tried so hard. Her paper was on a hospital ship—a hospital ship with the name of a country _._ My eyes opened and I stared across the desk. Germany was now standing, shouting something at Italy.

" _Armenia_ ," I said. "Over seven thousand. Only eight survived."

Both Nations went silent, attention turning to me.

"Civilians, injured soldiers, hospital personnel, refugees."

"They had a military escort!" Germany justified immediately. "That made them a fair target."

I said nothing, but turned my face up to him. He stared down at me, face carefully void of emotion. Nothing I could say was going to change the fact that seven thousand people had perished. Just like nothing I could say would prove consequential enough to stop any slaughter. Germany had not fired that torpedo, but…My head shook. A sick feeling pooled at the back of my throat. Seven thousand in four minutes. Seven thousand.

Taking a deep breath, I calmed myself.

No time for my own insanity. I had to deal with the insanity of the world first.

"If this war could end faster…" Germany trailed off, but his implication was obvious. "If this war could end faster, then there would be less suffering for everyone. Even Russia and his people. The bombings of London would stop as well. Maybe even America will not become involved."

Despite myself, I let a half-crazed laugh escape my lips. Now this approach? Telling me what was happening to my friends. What _could_ happen to my friends. To Russia. To Britain. What could happen to my family—to America. It was an approach he hadn't tried yet and, of them all, it might've worked.

Now, it was almost comical. In a crazy sort of way.

My friends were _already_ suffering. My family was already in so much pain that they were screaming in the dead of night. They were already suffering for the threads that connected them to me.

Even Iceland had suffered.

And he held no such connection.

Even so: "No."

Germany didn't even bother to argue this time. He just sighed and sat himself back down in his chair. His gaze shifted from me to something that sat on his desk. I followed his eyes and stared at the carved marble globe that sat there. A paperweight. "The world is falling to pieces. Will there even be a world when this war is over? You said it will end and that I will lose…but at what price?"

A price, I thought sadly. Norway's words echoed in my mind.

" _There is always a toll to pay. A price."_

Italy squawked something, clearly unaware of what I had said to Germany a few days before: that he would lose. Germany looked to me, desperate to know the answers. Answers I couldn't really give. "What's the price for my defeat? For _our_ defeat?"

"Isn't the same price paid in every war?" I questioned after a few moments of staring at that sphere of green and blue marble. No matter how much war, that globe would continue to spin—no matter how much we think it won't or wish it wouldn't. Maybe not that particular carved block of stone, but the world would continue to spin, just like always. " _Lives and values and loves and tears. Families and pride and land and years_. You know that. You've seen far more war than me, Germany. I'm just a child compared to you."

Germany stared at me before looking away.

"No other war can compare with this one though," Italy murmured. "The Great War. That's what this will be called by some." I could see Germany's slightly amazed expression when Italy turned to face me. His hands reached out to take mine in a show of his friendship. I let him do so. "Generations and generations will talk about this war, won't they? It will never be forgotten as long as any Nation exists."

Well…He wasn't wrong.

He was late. He was supposed to come at midnight. Though I didn't know the exact time, I knew that it had to be well-after that. My eyes were getting heavy with fatigue, so much so that they were beginning to ache. I was so tired, so weary. So _tired._ No matter how much I needed and wanted sleep, none came. It eluded me. Probably because of that nightmare. Every time my eyes closed, those images would flood my mind again and again. Some new Nations would take the place of others. Iceland had appeared in my dream just last night—a red thread wrapped around his throat as he struggled.

At least he _could_ struggle.

The others were dead.

Out of nowhere, there was a loud sound—like a clap of thunder. Sucking in a breath, I stabilized myself on the bed, hands holding the edge. Another loud 'boom' and it seemed to make the entire house rattle. Closer this time. The leftover meal that Italy had left me jangled on the table, forks against china. I was on my feet in an instant, rushing toward the door. Habit made me grab my cane as I moved forward.

There was a sudden feeling in the air—crackling pressure.

Almost as if a bomb had gone off somewhere nearby.

That anticipation made my breath catch.

This was it.

It had to be Norway. He said that I would know when it was time. He said I had to be prepared for anything, that the forces he was calling upon would be displeased at such a summoning. He said that those forces would make their displeasure known. I had no idea what he meant, but it seemed that these explosions had to be whatever he was summoning. He said that the result would be something volatile.

Another rattling blast sound and then a series of shouts echoed through the hallways. I felt my pulse quicken. I could do this. This was the time. I had been preparing myself for months for this moment.

This was it.

What I had been preparing for.

What I had been hoping for.

What I needed.

What the world needed.

This was it.

This was it.

**Footnotes:**

(1) Simone Weil, French philosopher. She poses that if contradiction can only be solved by a lie then it serves to open a door to thought of what could be possible. I was referencing her work when I was writing France's dialogue.

(1) The Soviet hospital ship _Armenia_ was torpedoed by a German bomber at 11:29 AM on November 7, 1941. It was one of the worst maritime disasters in history with over seven thousands souls lost. (No one knows the exact death toll.) Only eight survivors were picked from the icy waters. It has been largely forgotten and I wanted to pay tribute to remind people that it happened. It has been a topic of debate when considering war crimes because, under the rules of engagement, ships marked as hospital ships are not to be targeted. Or, it is at least considered bad form. Because the ship had a military escort, that protection was negated and the Germans fired.


	30. Toll

_The fruits of victory are tumbling into our mouths too quickly_. – Emperor Hirohito (April 1942)

This was it. The time had come for me to steel my resolve. I could have no doubts. Norway had told me specifically that if I entered into this with any uncertainty…the results would be disastrous. He told me that the price for uncertainty was too steep for me to pay. So, I stood just inside my room, my prison, and awaited his arrival with stubborn conviction. The distraction—for that's what the explosion had to be— most likely drew away the Land guards that were usually posted at the stairs. Soon enough, the door would be unlocked and that dull Nation would stand waiting.

Leaning onto my cane, I anticipated his arrival with bated breath. What would this be like? What was happening elsewhere in the house? Were my Nation friends safe? France? Egypt? Was Egypt confined to his room—safe there until this was all over? Would I be able to achieve my goal? Would I be able to stop the cascading changes to the timeline? My breathing was in short, quick gasps.

I could do this. I could.

I could do this.

It was my opportunity to return home, _to make things right_. I would be able to see my mother and hug her. Corey and Donna, my brother and sister. My grandfather. I could see them all again. Family get-togethers, dinners, phone calls. My dearest friends. I could laugh with them again. Fear would do me no good right now. Worry would only hinder my resolve.

I had to be strong. I had to—

"She should be down here!"

My eyes went wide and the grip on my cane loosened. No…It couldn't be.

"Shelly! Michelle, answer me!"

The cane fell to the wood floor with a clatter. That voice.

That voice!

It couldn't be—

Heart leaping into my throat, I rushed forward and slammed the heels of my hands into the door. It was a frantic action, filled with all the fear I felt. "America!" Instinct was guiding my actions, not thought. If I had _thought_ this through, I could have seen the issues with his presence. It was him though! My hands struck the door harder and harder, desperation clouding my mind. It didn't even occur to me that my wrists were hurting from the rapid impacts. Boom! Boom! Boom! The entire house seem to shake and quiver. Was it my fists or the bombs above? "America! America!"

Something hit the door. Two fist thumps, as if he had hit the door when running to it. "Michelle?" I could hear him breathing hard on the other side. He was desperate—desperate to reach me. Despite my swearing to remain strong, I felt myself weaken at the sound of his voice. I choked back a sob, pressing my forehead to the door. It was such a relief to hear this _voice_. Just his voice. "M-Michelle? Shelly? That you?"

"It's—It's me," I replied shakily. There was a popping sound elsewhere in the house and I flinched. Gunshots. A lot of them. Different calibers, different sounds. Letting out a breath, I felt my consciousness of the situation returning. "What—What the hell are you doing here?"

"Step away from the door, sweetheart." I felt my muscles lock for a single moment. America's voice was dangerous and I knew, I knew that something had him scared. It was a dark sort of timbre in his tone. America only got like that when he was scared. I stumbled away as quickly as I could without reply, moving to stand to the right of the door way. My arms rose to shield my face as I pressed myself into the corner between the wall and the armoire, bracing for whatever he planned to do.

"America—" Someone else's voice started, but it was too late.

The door exploded clear off its hinges, slamming against the floor with a deafening 'boom.' I curled into myself for protection from the wood-shard shrapnel. Bits of wood sprinkled to the floor and into my hair. I could feel those pieces peppering my back. Did he kick the door in or did he destroy it completely? I would believe either with as strong as he was.

There was an overwhelming silence—even the gunshots elsewhere had paused. Then the sound of boots stepping into the room. Just as I opened my eyes and turned, I felt myself being pulled into a tight hug. He tucked his head into the crook of my shoulder, as if that could offer some protection from the world. My eyes squeezed shut in the embrace. Despite my fear and my apprehension at his presence, I let out a quivering breath and held him just as fiercely. My fingers grasped onto his leather jacket for dear life. He smelled like always, leather and chargrill smoke. I closed my eyes tight, squeezing them shut.

America. Home.

"You utter—unbelievable—indefinable— _git_! You didn't have to bust down the damn door! I have the bloody _key!_ "

America pulled away slightly, looking me over for any wounds. His frantic hands brushed the strands of hair from my face. He ignored Britain completely. "You okay, Shelly? Tell me you're okay." His fingers wrapped around either side of my face and he forced me to look into his eyes.

Why did he look so _scared_?

"I'm—I'm fine. What the he—What's going on? You weren't supposed—"

"We've come to get you out of here," Britain interrupted before America could speak up. Alfred gave me one final glance over, eyes lingering just below my face. A look of something, which I couldn't quite decipher, appeared on his countenance before he released me and busied himself with finding my cane amongst the rubble of the door. He grumbled something under his breath as he did so.

In his place, Arthur stepped forward and raised a hand to my chin, lifting it up. The action was hauntingly reminiscent of France's cupping of my chin just a few hours earlier. His green eyes narrowed as his head tilted downward a bit. I realized that he was examining the bruising from Prussia's attack. Those marks still hadn't faded completely. There was still some yellowing of the skin, with a few light purple spots. It was obvious indication of strangling. "Michelle," his irises flickered up to my face. His jaw clenched. "Who—"

"What are you all doing here?" I questioned again. My injuries were superficial, if anything.

Britain pressed his lips together and stepped back, releasing my face. His voice lowered to a whisper, so that America couldn't hear. "Whoever it was…" That growled threat didn't need to be finished. My mouth opened and then wisely shut, seeing that I couldn't dissuade him. After a moment, that rage flickered away and he raised his voice. "The situation is growing too unstable. America was adamant— _annoying_ —enough for us to mount an early rescue."

"Never underestimate the power of annoyance," America said with a bitter laugh. "It'll motivate even the most stubborn of idiots!" Alfred looked harried and rushed, eyes flashing toward the doorway every other second. Like he expected someone to be there. "We gotta get going, dudes. Won't be long before they realize we're down here."

My mind just couldn't seem to catch up with what was happening.

This wasn't how it was meant to go at all.

Norway was supposed to be here. I was supposed to go home via his magic. Just as Britain began to pull me toward the door, an arm wrapped securely around my shoulders, I planted my feet and didn't budge, staring hard at the splinter-scattered floor. This was… They had come for me, come to get me out of Germany's possession. My friends had mounted a rescue when all bets seemed off. When there was so much risk and opposition. Even if I was just a source of knowledge, just a security risk, I knew that America—at least—had come to save _me_.

No, from Britain's expression and fierceness, I could tell that I was not _just_ a source of information anymore. I had earned their friendship throughout all these trials.

And they had come for me.

And I couldn't go.

"I've spoken to Norway," I stated clearly as Britain released me. "He—He was going to retrieve me at midnight… to send me home."

Both Nations went still, turning in my direction. I knew that there was no time to waste and the shock of their sudden arrival was slowly starting to register. At least I would see them once more before going home. I had to think of it that way, otherwise I would just breakdown from the stress of it all. They were in so much danger at the moment that I could hardly process the severity of it. Still…This had to be done. My chin rose and I grabbed my cane from America's hands. He was too surprised to stop me. I moved to the doorway and glanced out, noting the smoke that was starting to fill the space. It lingered about the ceiling, dancing on the drafts.

Finally, Britain seemed to break out of his disbelief. "You—You found him then? Norway has agreed? Midnight, you say."

"That's right," I responded clinically. If I listened close enough I could hear people yelling. My brows pulled together in question and I gestured toward the ceiling. "Who else came?"

"Nobody," America said a little too quickly.

"Canada," Britain replied. He cast America a strange look, clearly confused about why my Nation would lie about the other rescuers. I turned slightly and saw America's wide-eyed gaze set on me. It was like he had been caught. Unconsciously, my free hand rose and rested on my hip. America still didn't move. "Really, America." Britain sounded exasperated and confused. "What in the world is it now?"

"Who _else_?" My question was a bit sterner this time, head nodding just a bit. I wanted answers. That was more than just Matt upstairs. It sounded like an actual warzone and, while Matthew was more than capable of raising hell himself, this sounded like the seventh circle. Yelling and popping sounds and explosions. That was more than just Canada.

"The Commie Ba—Russia and China," America grumbled. Almost as if he didn't want to admit it. A hand came up to scratch the back of his head. He glanced away. Oh…shit. A guilty smile pulled at his lips and he gave a grunted sigh. No, no, no, no, no. Please, no. "Uh, New York came, too?" My jaw dropped and I saw him visibly wince at my expression, which I expected looked nothing short of thunderous. "And…uh, you know… Delaware might've kinda tagged along."

"Tagged—He might've _tagged along_? What? You brought Johnny _and_ George into this mess? Are you out of your flipping mind? What _the hell_ were you thinking?!"

"He wasn't," Britain's muffled voice muttered.

I felt my pulse quicken as I looked back into the hallway again. This was quickly becoming a catastrophe. Not only had the Allies come to save me _a day early_ , but America had been stupid enough to bring New York and Delaware along for the ride? Sometimes Alfred can just get so caught up in a situation that he just forgets to think of the ramifications. If they were captured, what would happen? What if they were injured? Would that mean an attack on American soil on American citizens?

A series of gunshots sounded upstairs and I looked toward the ceiling, feeling sick.

New York. Johnny…

"It's really happening? You're leavin'?" I didn't answer America's question, instead edging myself out into the hallway. I felt uncertain, worried. What if my opportunity had disappeared with their arrival? What if Norway couldn't perform his magic to send me home?

What if—What if—A thrill of unbridled fear rushed through me. What if they were hurt in coming to rescue me?

This couldn't be happening.

I couldn't _let_ this happen.

"It's five until midnight. My bombers are over Berlin and various other air spaces in Germany right now. They were the perfect distraction to air drop in and get you out." Britain seemed to be catching up to the situation as well. He could read the panic on my face. "Lead us to where Norway is being held. He can perform the magic elsewhere. Some place safe. We'll get you both out."

"That will not be possible."

My attention spun to the end of the hallway, where Norway was standing at the head of the stairs. There was no decipherable expression his face, but his stance was defensive. He seemed ready to fend off any attack that might come his way, even from the Allies.

"You assume that I would come with you, Britain. You assume wrong."

Of course he wouldn't come with us, I realized.

He had too much to lose. He needed to stay here with his brothers—with Iceland and Denmark. To make sure that they were alright. He had to remain behind. His blue eyes shifted to me and I felt myself nodding as I moved forward. Someone grabbed my arm and stepped in front of me, angling so that I was blocked from Norway's view.

"What's that?" America question. "Why not come with, Norway? It'd be easier—"

I stepped to the side so that I could see the man at the end of the hallway.

He stared for a few moments before letting out a huff.

"Easier for whom? For you? I do not give a damn about how easy things are for you."

Norway stared at them, brows angling downward just a bit. That was enough to get America to flinch. And when he did, I pulled my arm from his grasp and quickly moved forward to stand in front of Norway, breathing heavily. This was overwhelming. All of these things at once. Norway shifted a bit, hand reaching out to steady himself on the stair bannister. I could almost see Norway's nervousness before it was hidden away again behind his emotionless façade. While America called my name, Norway spoke to me quickly and quietly.

"It is ready. I was just getting the anchor when they attacked. You have no choice." He pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. "It is now or never."

Glancing back at America and Britain, I knew what I had to do.

I had to do right by them.

Them, who sheltered me and who cared for me. Who came and fought for me.

My friends. I saw Arthur shift slightly, almost as if he could tell what was about to happen.

My family. America was slack-jawed, a fierceness I'd never seen before in his eyes.

This was for them. It was always for them.

Resolutely, I clenched my teeth together and glanced back to Norway, who read my expression instantly. He nodded once and gestured toward the stairs. Without glancing back at the Allies, I followed behind him. The thumping of my boots on the stairs seemed to make the whole world shake. My cane was held up as I hurried down the stair well, gripping the wooden railing as I went.

"Michelle!"

"What the bloody hell are you doing?"

I didn't answer, hurrying myself down the stairs. When Norway reached the bottom, he grabbed hold of the wall and, instead of going to the left, he swung himself to the right. It was the direction that I had not gone before. I echoed his movement, swinging around the corner. My limp becoming more punctuated than before as I corrected my footing—cane never touching the ground as I moved.

The corridor was dimly lit, with only a few sparsely placed lights down the length. Norway offered no explanation as he moved. Bright, dim, bright, dim. My head turned, hair in my face. I saw America and Britain at the bottom of the stairs. Their expressions were still surprised.

Stopping briefly, I felt a tremor rock the house. My hand shot out and I steadied myself on the wall. Was someone _bombing_ the house or something? America glanced up uncertainly, clearly asking himself the same question. "Y'all should leave!" Their attentions turned back to me. "I'm gonna through with this. If I go home it might reset the timeline. If it doesn't, then you all need to have a clear escape route."

Spinning on my good heel, I began down the hall again.

"We came here to get _you_!" America shouted. "If you think we're just gonna turn tail and run, then—"

"Yes!" I yelled in return. "Yeah! That's exactly what I want you to do! Get out of here! Escape!"

Norway was already inside the room at the very end of that concrete labyrinth. Vaguely, I wondered why Germany had built such an intricate subterranean complex underneath. Then I realized that he had been preparing for this for years and years. This was built in anticipation for a war. My gaze skittered over the many other rooms that were housed in this dark and dank place.

More rooms for overtaken Nations.

The thought was sickening.

World domination.

That's why…

Sliding to a stop on some loose gravel outside of the final room, I twisted myself around to focus on America and Britain. America looked to be at a loss. Maybe he couldn't understand, but I could try to explain. Hopefully, he wouldn't hate me.

"I'm not the hero here, America." I bit my lip and shifted. "My—my motivations are simple, okay? I wanna go home. Home—where my family is. I want to protect—No, you do whatever you can, right? Whether it's good or bad, for the sake of certain…people that you think are important, right? This is my move. It's my decision. And for once, I'm not gonna back down." When America started forward, I took the initiative to stop him. My hand hit his chest and I pushed back, but he didn't budge.

"You're insane! Shelly, this is nuts! You don't know if this is gonna work. You're bat shit for even tryin' this! There's nothin' that guarantees that you'll get home. Even then, nothin' guarantees that this world will go back to the way that it's 'supposed to be.' Whatever that actually was." America's hands rose and he gripped my upper arms, shaking me a little. As if he could rattle the idea loose from my brain. "What if this is the way it's supposed to be, huh? Didja ever think of that? Huh? What if this is the way our world is supposed to be?"

"America—"

"No, it's a bunch of bull shit! Britain, we can't let her do this. It's suicide."

"I'm not being a martyr, America. I'm too much of a coward for that. I like living too much. I want to go home!" Desperation made me shove as hard as I could at America's chest and he automatically released me. The force of my shove sent me flying backward, striking the concrete wall. My eyes went wide.

America was so strong. He couldn't be moved. I saw every single bit of his mask crumbling before my eyes. I don't quite know what caused it, but even the bravado of being the hero was disappearing. His eyes were the most telling: from intense protectiveness to absolute misery. I felt my stomach lurch at the sight. This was my brother. My brother who was so lonely and scared and isolated.

Who grew up much too fast. He looked helpless.

"Please…Please, Michelle."

My attention was caught by something at the other end of the hallway and I felt myself smile, but I felt distanced from it. Tears filled my eyes, but they didn't fall. Gently, as gently as I could, I reached forward and pressed my hand to the side of America's face. Egypt was locked away at the moment. He wouldn't be able to say these words any better than I could now.

"You're my hero. And my brother. And I—I love you…so—so much." Tears blurred my vision as I stepped back and to the side. "Please tell New York that, too….I—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…" This was as far as I could go. As I stepped back into the room, I felt hands land on my shoulders. "God, I'm so sorry, America." My head lowered so that I was staring through my tears at the concrete floor.

Darkened dots on the concrete below made me realize that I was truly crying.

"You need to be certain or this will not work." Norway whispered over my shoulder. "No doubts."

I pressed my lips together. Norway doubted me again.

I hated when people underestimated me.

"Russia—" All attention shifted to the towering Nation. He wasn't even winded from his jog down the hallway or his battles upstairs. His cane was still in his hand, the end coated in crimson. I felt myself stiffen out of habit at the substance.

So much blood.

On my hands.

On the threads.

Did Russia see the fear in my eyes? " _Dushenka_ ,"Russia stepped forward into the doorway and gave me a once over, hard eyes lingering on my neck. There was a flare of something in his expression, though I couldn't quite place it. It looked akin to recklessness, though I shuddered at the thought. Russia wasn't inherently reckless or crazy in his actions. His brows rose just slightly, questioning if I was alright. I then hated my weak tears.

An explosion, bigger than any of the others, made the entire complex shudder. Bits of concrete sprinkled down from the ceiling. In that moment, I was able to fully catch Russia's eyes as he maintained his balance. He was so exhausted, so tired, so overwhelmed. He didn't try to hide that from me because…because he was also pleading with me not to ask this of him. Those eyes flickered to where Norway was holding my shoulders.

When Russia waved his cane in my direction, Norway released his hold on my shoulders and moved to finish whatever preparations he had to make. Ivan frowned darkly as the smaller Nation walked, glaring at his back, before focusing on me once more. "Michelle."

"What the _bloody hell_ —" I tuned Britain out.

"Please," I murmured imploringly. My friend frowned, stepping forward just slightly to get closer. He lifted one hand and placed it on the crook of my neck. It was a warm comfort and I closed my eyes for a moment. "Ivan, please." My eyes opened again.

It was stunning to see the transformation. Russia looked down from his immense height. I looked up at him just the same, not backing down. There was not one shred of doubt in my mind and I think he could see that. I _wanted_ him to see that. I wanted him to see that I trusted him. That I had confidence in him. His lips pressed together in a grimace and he closed his eyes, letting out a shaking breath. "Michelle. _Dushenka_ , do not doing this."

Reaching forward discreetly, so that America would not see, I pressed my hand to his chest, just under his medal. His grip on my shoulder grew firm and so distressed that it made my heart ache. It was like he was trying to hold on for dear life. Ivan had come to care for me as well. I forced a smile, just like I had always seen him do. "Russia—Ivan, I'm asking you as a friend. Like we discussed."

He hesitated a moment before all emotion was gone from his face. He nodded once, "Just like we plan, then?" There was a moment of tense silence before Ivan turned on his boot heel and planted his cane on the floor in front of him. Both hands rested atop the blood-encrusted faucet. He had positioned himself in the doorway, like an insurmountable wall.

"What—"

"Dude, Russia, what're you doin'?"

Knowing that Ivan could handle whatever America and Britain threw at him, I looked to Norway. I caught his stare, which just bordered on curious. I wasn't going to give him the benefit of an answer. He made me live in anticipation and fear. I could spare him the explanation of Russia's protection.

Shrugging my shoulders, I moved cautiously toward him and edged myself around a runic circle that was etched into the concrete floor. The circle itself was about fifteen feet by fifteen feet, taking up most of the space in the cleared-out storage room. Three circles rested inside of the largest, each carved with intricate details—swirling lines that seemed fantastical and ancient. An unspoken power seemed to emanate from the symbols. I could feel it brushing over my skin, leaving the hairs raised on my arm.

"You have divided their ranks," Norway murmured.

I glanced back to see Russia still standing firm, but America was shouting now. Hesitating, I glanced to Norway's dull face and rushed over to the arguing Nations. Norway was absolutely no help at all. If anything, he seemed to be making the situation worse. "America! Stop it!"

"You're not doin' this."

"Shut up!" I barked back. Alfred seemed to recoil at my tone. "If you want to be the hero, act as a guard. I'll do my part over here."

"Then tell the Commie to move."

I snorted, "You think I can tell Russia to do something?"

"She did not order me, America." Russia commented as if describing the weather. "I do of free will."

"You know what free will is?" America snorted.

"Free will as human, not Nation."

Gesturing toward Ivan with a flip of my hand, I looked to my Nation and narrowed my eyes. "For years, I have been at the will of the Nations. I've been helped and fed and clothed and saved and tortured. Now, let _me_ do something." I reached out my hand through the space that Russia left open and gave Alfred an imploring look. "I can do this, America. I can make this right. I know I can."

America stared at my hand for a few long moments. A gunshot rang out of nowhere and he instinctively ducked, grabbing my hand. "You're nuts, Shelly!" He released my fingers and dropped to the floor, rolling out of the way. His gun game out in the same movement. "It's not like we can escape now anyway. Get this done and then we're out of here! I swear, you're freakin' crazy! Damn it, Britain! Cover fire, dude!"

"The hell do you think I've been doing? Eating crumpets? Pull your head out of your arse and help out for once in your bloody life!" Britain fired a shot and sent me a look. "Well, Michelle? What are you waiting for? A hand-written letter? Get to work."

His reference to one of my letters to him made me go still. He shot me a quick smirk, full of all the micheviousness and caring that he possessed within him. I felt myself smile back for a moment when the world seem to be at peace. "Yeah, yeah. Keep fighting , pirate." He snorted a laugh and went back to firing his gun, smile still on his face.

I felt myself being pushed into the room by Russia, who ducted into the space as well, pulling a pistol from his coat. He gave me a firm shove toward Norway and sent me a look that clearly said 'be careful' before firing back down the hallway before pulling himself back out of the line of fire. It was the work of a practiced soldier. Worry pulsed through me, but I knew. I knew I couldn't focus on that.

I couldn't.

Not right now.

Resolution poured through me and I strode toward the former Viking. "Norway, let's get this done."

"You see that space there?" I nodded, not moving toward it. It was a triangle at the middle of the rune circles. The only space that had no symbols within it. He gave me a disbelieving look. "Do I have to spell it out? Go stand in that space. Geez, you Americans."

"Bite me, Norway!" America's shout made me jump. There was a series of gunshots and I saw a spark on the opposite wall. A bullet skittered to the floor a moment later. "Damn! Britain, get him."

"I'm a better shot than you, so shut up!" Arthur yelled in return. There was a pained yelp and a second later a string of curses that came echoing down the hall. "Ha! You see?"

Shaking my head, I moved to the center of the circle and thanked my lucky stars that the door was at the far end of the room. There was no chance of being shot from this position. "You really thought out this set up, didn't you? How long did you have this planned?"

"Get as old as me and you think of all the ways things go wrong." Norway shrugged his shoulders and pulled something from his pocket and settled it in another triangle about seven feet away at what I guessed to be the 'head' of the rune circle. My eyes widened at the object. "Took this from Germany's office. There needs to be an anchor for the magic." The small marble globe sat in curious averageness among the symbols and warfare. Like a simple map once had as well. "I was retrieving it when the Allies decided to make their stupid play on this garrison."

"Bite me, Norway!" America shouted again.

I moved to stand at the center of the circle, looking down at my feet to make certain that they were well within that triangle space. The gunshots ceased for a few moments and I felt my heart jump into my throat. What—

"Ha! Mattie! Great timing, bro! Get your ass down here! Where the hell have you been?"

My feet started to shift, but Norway's voice made me freeze. "Do not move."

Looking back to him, I tried to focus on his movements instead of the conversation outside. He prowled around the outside of the circle, placing four mismatched candles around the space. It almost felt as if he had been preparing for this day for quite some time. He was muttering something under his breath as he went, pressing his hand to the specific runes that sat at the candle's position inside the circle. When his fingers lay upon those symbols, they lit with a blue glow. My mouth opened in surprise.

"For someone who is here through magic, you sure are impressed by it."

"Magic like this isn't exactly…common where I come from."

Norway glanced to me. "Oh, I know." Something felt very strange about his answer, but I had no time to question it. He had already reached the head of the circle again. He placed one final candle just outside the circle from the small marble globe before Norway pressed his hand to the object. The paperweight began to blaze a bright blue. That light travelled along the lines, moving out from the candles and the touched symbols. It was breathtaking.

A strange tinkling sound seemed to accompany the flowing magic as it began to spring about from rune to rune almost like a timed fountain at some theme park.

It was magnificent.

It took all of my self-control to keep myself from gasping in awe.

A barrage of gunshots reminded me of where I was and just what was going on around me.

This wasn't some fairytale.

"Shit! Where's China? He was with you!"

"Japan's got him upstairs. He's injured. I saw them fighting on the east lawn when he went down."

This was a warzone.

Norway gave me one final look, an appraising glance. "If you are a coward, now is the time to give up. Once I summon this creature, there is no going back."

"Michelle—" America's voice.

"Do it."

There was a bright flash of blue light. I couldn't help but to cry out and cover my eyes with my forearms. The intensity of it was unlike anything I had ever seen. Even when I was brought into this world, I didn't remember the magic being so brilliantly intense. I could feel the heat of it on my skin, soaking through my uniform. I was pulsating around me, like a heartbeat. After a few moments, that heartbeat slowed and I felt a strange sensation flow down my back. My arms lowered and I felt my breath catch.

Standing just a few scant feet away was a creature I had never seen before—smooth green skin stretched over its wide face, moss-like hair growing from its chin. Pupil-less white eyes stared in my direction before its olive-toned lips curled up into a smirk. I started to take a cautionary step back, but stopped myself. It was grotesque and strange, but it was hardly a beast.

A beast would have attack me instantly and would not have cast me such an amused look.

This being…was a troll.

I couldn't back away.

I wouldn't back away.

" _Norge_ ," it rumbled. "Explain why you summoned me." A volley of gunshots echoed through the cavernous room. "Ah, that must be why."

My fearful eyes shot over to where Russia was kneeling next to the door way, quickly putting new bullets into his gun. He glanced to me, then the troll, before spinning back around to fire down the hallway. I had heard what they said earlier. China was captured by Japan. That meant that the three main Axis Powers were present in the house. Furthermore, it meant that China's support was lost in this battle. I stopped breathing for a moment when that realization hit me.

China was lost because of me.

"I see."

There was a rush of wind and I spun back around, careful to keep my feet within the triangle. The troll was closer than before. I restrained myself from stepping back. He eyed me critically for a moment, arching a hairy mossed brow. From his close distance, I could smell a sort of stale must from him—like the inside of spring cave.

"You may leave the lines, human." Confused, I looked to where Norway was staring at the ceiling with little interest. What? The lilt of his crude Scandinavian accent was amused. "Ignore _Norge_ , He always has been a vindictive sort of fellow. You cannot leave the circle, but you may leave the triangle. It will make so real difference."

Feeling the slightest bit more at ease, I allowed myself a few feet from the enormous bulk of the troll. He smirked a little wider than before, following my movements with his pure white eyes. A hand reached out and was laid upon my head before I could draw away. The weight of it was staggering and I lifted both hands to relieve the sheer bulk from my neck. Before I could say a word, there was another gunshot at the wall behind me. Unable to turn my head, I instead watched as the troll shifted its white eyes toward the doorway, where I knew Russia was positioned.

"You should focus on your real enemy, Nation. I am only a broker." His large eyes shifted back toward me again. There was something dark there this time. Though without pupils, his expression was clear and it had my stomach twisting in nervous knots. "You are in a strange position, little human. A ripple exists around you. It is making the worlds unstable."

"Worlds? Unstable?" Norway interrupted with a note of actual curiosity in his voice. I saw him raise a hand to his chin. "Yes. Egypt had been concerned that such a thing would happen or had happened already. He felt that disturbance when he was with her before. Tried to figure it out himself, but was unsuccessful."

"Egypt?" I latched onto the only thing I knew and understood. He had been speaking to Egypt? What were they talking about? A ripple? A thrill of nervous energy shot through my chest. "What are you talking about?"

Norway merely shrugged, but the troll chose to respond. "A ripple or a bubble exists around you. It is because you hail from a different realm from this one. Because of this, you have been able to affect the timeline unlike others whom are native to this world. It sets you apart. Your world and other worlds cling to your mind and soul like grime on a rock in a pond."

My eyes narrowed in thought. It made sense—it made me a radical element. It's extreme quantum mechanics if viewed from a viewpoint of mysticism. He was essentially stating that my aura itself was…breaking the laws of mechanics. Due to this, I was breaking the idea of determinism by my mere presence. That sort of breakage was limited to me and only me and, thus, cascaded out every time I encountered another person. Yes, that made sense. Like a butterfly flapping its wings and causing a typhoon. The troll snorted much like a horse and lifted his hand from my head. His own eyes narrowed.

"I shall guess: you have had many visions while in this world."

My entire body seized up, muscles locking. I felt my eyes go wide and I took a tiny step back. How—how could he have known that? I told no one about my hallucinations. I wanted to keep those to myself, to deal with them on my own. Not to worry anyone else with it. How could he have guessed something so private? "Hal-hallucinations—I've—I've had—" I couldn't seem to string the words together. I glanced toward where Russia was watching the exchange, eyes narrowed. He didn't trust this troll. "They're…"

"Do these visions involve the people from this world? The Nations?" My head nodded. Of course they did. How could they not? "You have heard of mind-body dualism, correct?" The terminology was above my head and I felt a thrill of very real fear. I didn't know this. None of it. "A body is easy to transport through worlds, human. It is the mind that is difficult, the soul. It cannot be held to any particular law or physicality. Because of that, each time a human or being is pushed into another realm, there are changes that are made. And that person becomes the point at which worlds collide and converge occasionally. Unless, that person is rent of their former mind."

An image came into my mind without thought. A glass in my kitchen and my father pouring oil into water and then all matter of other liquids. It was for a chemistry project when I was ten, easy enough that he could help me with while he was under treatment. When almost ten layers of liquids were in that container, he dropped a quarter into the glass. As the quarter dropped, it pulled some of the other liquids with it. My eyes went wide, so wide that my head was starting to hurt.

"They—they weren't hallucinations."

"No," the troll answered. "They were a form of reality, colliding around you."

"My dreams—" I started, but was cut off.

"Your dreams are yours alone. Only the visions were of this decoherence."

There was no relief. No breath of happiness. Just dull understanding. At this point, what did it matter if those visions of HetaOni were one thing or another? Real or not real? One reality or the next? In my mind or otherwise? What did it matter if I felt my insanity still chewing at the edges of my mind—where nightmares still haunted? Nightmares with similar images, with death and terror. None of it was relevant at that moment. Realities were colliding because of my presence. Then it would be fixed soon enough.

Taking a deep breath, I raised my chin and shoulders, trying to appear as large as I could before the troll's enormity. "How-" I saw his expression slip into surprise before he stepped back and gestured like some grand courtier. "How do I return to my own world?"

He considered me for a moment just before another torrent of bullets resounded through the corridor and dungeonous room. After a moment, he smirked. I felt my stomach drop. "What does it cost to cross any bridge of worth?" My body went still, heart thundering in my ears. This…This couldn't be happening.

" _There is always a toll to pay. A price."_

My dazed eyes flickered over to where Norway was watching the exchange. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. I stared at him in silence, hoping that I had heard him wrong. This was my own fault, my own naiveté. I had thought that he was referring to the price of war, but it seemed…he was referring to this. Norway stared right back at me, almost seeming to challenge me to be a coward.

He had set me up.

"A toll," the troll answered himself. I looked back at him. His smirk became a little demented, a little twisted and menacing. My fingers were going numb as I stood there, breathing shallowly as I realized how little I had to give. It leaned forward and lowered its voice to a deadly whisper. I forced myself to remain still and outwardly calm. I didn't with draw or move away. I allowed his stale breath to spill over me without so much as a shudder. "To return to your world, you must pay… a toll."


	31. Bridges

_Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty_.

– John F. Kennedy

"A toll," the troll stated. This creature was rapidly becoming a monster right before my eyes. His transformation was in the way he held himself—that's all it takes for all creatures, I think. A sneer pulled at his dark green lips as he leaned forward. His face was inches from my own, my hairs floating on the stale wind that blew from his nostrils. I held myself firm, hiding the shaking of my hands by gripping the hem of my uniform pants. What more could I do but stay still and pray that he was merely joking? "To return to your world, you must pay… a toll."

This was no joke.

I had heard of troll bridges before, sure. They were a common myth in world cultures, but I was no mythology expert. I didn't know what kind of toll I would have to pay or what kind of payment the troll might seek. Maybe it was best to look at this as a business deal.

Yes, a business deal was something I could manage. Transactions could be cold and hard.

Like facts.

I could deal with facts.

"I have nothing of monetary value," I said evenly.

It snorted, "Nothing? No gold or silver?" The troll gave me a critical once over, shaking its head. "You must have something of value? Perhaps the…gift of a king?" Sucking in a breath, I watched as he waved his hand in a circular motion. It was almost entrancing, but I held my wits. Something felt very strange about this whole exchange. "Given to you by a King, given to him by a Queen of my region. Yes, you possess something of value. The questions: Would you give it to me? And what will it buy you?" An object began to materialize in the air above his hand.

Just as it began to fall, he caught it deftly. The green contrasted starkly with the gold. It was held in his hand for a moment before he positioned it between his fingers, a grin growing on his face. It was the pocket watch King George had given me upon our arrival to Britain. A sick feeling cut through my stomach. "This pays for a one way trip to your world." He tossed the watch into the air and caught it again, grinning like a maniac. It seemed like such a cheap price that I felt myself hesitating.

A simple pocket watch?

That's all he wanted?

"What's the catch?" I questioned after a moment.

The troll barked a laugh. "Catch? I was cutting you a good deal for the sake of my friend over there." He gestured toward Norway, who was watching Russia with an _almost_ hateful expression. Biting my lip, I shifted backward. "It gets you out of the way, you see. Out of _his_ way. That's what he wants, for you to leave."

There was peppering of gunfire and I glanced around to where Russia was standing, watching him assess the situation from around the corner. His knuckles were white as he gripped the gun, sliding a new round of bullets into the barrel. His cane was settled against the wall beside him, momentarily forgotten. The oncoming attack was going to be a bad one. Maybe even Prussia had arrived as reinforcements or other Axis forces.

What chances could I take?

"Does it reset the timeline? With me gone, will the timeline reset to what it…once was?"

There was a momentary pause before the troll began to laugh outright, shaking his grassy head. It was so loud that it seemed to drown out the sound of war. Turning back to the creature, I saw that he was genuinely amused by my questioned and that got my hackles raised. I felt like I was being patronized and, if there was one thing I hated, it was condescension. Going stock still, I narrowed my eyes at the monster before me. In my peripheral vision, I saw Russia looking in my direction. He pulled the hammer back on his gun and glared toward where the troll was cackling.

The troll's white eyes flicked in his direction for a moment, a smirk pulling at his lips. "What do you want more, human? To go home or to reset the timeline? I will warn you, you do not have enough to fund both ventures. You do not even have enough to reset the timeline, barely enough to go home."

My stomach clenched, fear pulsating with my heartbeat. Could it be that all of this had been for a goal that I could never reach? "How much?"

It snorted, "No chance that you could pay it. No mortal would pay it. No mortal has ever paid it. To reset a timeline is to rip the very fabric of reality and sew it back together. Even that leaves margin for extreme error. You do not know what you are asking for or the cost that accompanies it."

"Of course I don't know," I bit out. "I'm not immortal nor am I magical. I'm just a pathetic human! A human. So, enlighten me! What's the process? What are the consequences? Finally, what is _the cost?_ "

Glancing over to where Norway was passively observing, the troll gave an irate gesture toward me. For some reason, I felt pride that I had irritated this creature, but I knew that was sheer stupidity. I needed to be in the troll's good graces. Maybe he could cut me a deal. Norway sighed, running his right hand through his hair, avoiding the pins that kept his bangs back on the left hand side. He pushed off the wall and walked to the edge of the circle.

"Michelle, I told you that the price would be high. You should take the deal that _Jotunar_ has offered you. The pocket watch of a king? Gold is highly valued among troll-folk. Despite what you might think, he is getting the better end of the bargain." When I didn't move or speak, he looked me over with a look of disdain gracing his regal features. "You cannot change the timeline back. It is impossible."

"That's not what he said. He said that the price was too high." I countered. "Don't take me for a complete _fool_ or a _stupid_ little girl, Norway. I'm neither."

He stared at me for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. I settled back onto my good foot, waiting for a response. Outside, I could hear the voices of my friends reasoning out their next battle plan. I glanced momentarily toward the door, seeing that Russia was listening in on the details. His eyes were still on me, however, and I tried my best to send him a calming close-lipped smile. It faded after a moment when I heard Britain curse.

"Damn it! This is a death trap. They're rallying. We know that's what's happening up there. They're going to storm down here at any moment. We don't have the ammunition to combat that."

"New York and Del—"

"It's your _own fault_ for bringing them," Matt's low voice muttered. "You should have told him 'no,' or ordered him to remain behind. George only came along because John did."

America snorted. I could imagine his head shaking. They were taking the States too lightly. "And endure hell from both him _and_ Shelly? Not to mention George and the other States? No thanks. Liberty and freedom for all that jazz, right? Nah, I'll let Johnny rough out it out upstairs. He's a tough guy, he can handle it. Deals with his buddies in the mob all the time. He can take a beating, trust me. George'll back him up, too. I'm not worried, dude. Just wish they were down here with us." So America was confident that they hadn't been injured or captured. That allowed me to breathe a little easier. They were safe somewhere in the house.

New York was safe. Johnny was safe.

For the time-being, everyone was safe.

I could take a moment to think all of this through.

"Threads," Norway said at last. "Yarn. Strings."

I turned back to him, brows pulling together in confusion.

The troll rumbled out a laugh. "You have to give a little more explanation, _Norge_." The blond just shrugged and looked back toward the ceiling again, a hint of apprehension in his expression. That sent a new flutter of anticipation through my stomach. I felt my arms crossing despite myself, knowing that the movement looked defensive. I hated when I didn't _understand!_ "We all call connections by different names. You see, the world is composed of these strings or threads. History is formed by the connections between the nations and Nations. Between people. Between factions. You are a part of that fabric now. If you are fully removed, erased, it would be like cutting out a stitch in a blanket. Everything would begin to unravel. Perhaps this was not the way this world once was, but you could take it that this is a completely different reality from the fiction that you once knew. It is what will come to be known as alternate realities. The moment you entered the equation, a new quotient was formed. A new history."

Panic swept through me. If that were the case, then there was _no way_ that the Allies could win this war. Egypt, Syria, and Iceland would only be the beginning. I knew it. I could feel it in my bones. And that fact alone was frightening enough. What if Russia fell next? What if China had already _fallen?_ What if—There were too many variables, to many radical elements now. I wouldn't be able to predict anything of worth. Shuddering just a bit, I looked up at the troll and tried to sound confident. Inside, I felt more uncertain than ever. It was clear in the way I stuttered. "Th-There has to be a method to set things back on the right—"

"I'm gonna check on—"

"America, don't!"

The concussion of a gun, like the crack of a whip.

Out of the blue.

Out of nowhere.

Out of the mid-day sky.

No warning.

Silence seemed to drift in the air for a few moments, hanging like a guillotine over the throats of all those present. Over my throat. It was mere seconds, but those moments felt like an eternity. Like all of history had passed and recycled. Like history didn't exist. Nor people. Nor Nations. Nor the world. Just silence. Gasping, I turned on my good heel, feeling my heart thundering in my ears. It was difficult to breath, to draw breath. Some part of me could feel it. I could feel it, cutting through my chest like a hot knife.

I could _feel_ it.

"America!" Britain's frightened voice tore through the stale air of the basement.

I let out a quivering breath, eyes going wide. Instinct seemed to guide my actions and I let that impulse take over my body. My limbs were moving without thought and I rushed toward the doorway. I could think of nothing but my Nation.

 _My_ Nation.

 _My_ brother.

 _My_ home.

When I reached the back corner of the circle, closest to the door, I felt my heart stop in my chest. I could see him from within the circle. America stood with his back to me, very still.

Eerily still.

Too still.

Everything was so quiet that I could hear myself breathing. My ears seemed full, tunneling out all other sounds. That's when I saw the first drop of blood hit the concrete next to his military-issue boots. I couldn't move. I couldn't _move._ I saw his head turned just slightly, until he could see Britain's horrified face. It seemed no one could find the will to do anything. His mouth was twitching toward a smile and then it was like the strings had been cut.

America dropped to his knees.

A blood red three.

At the other end of the hall, I could see only one dark-haired figure.

His gun was raised.

There was no dramatic smoke.

No crazed smile on his face.

Just...Japan.

  1. It couldn't—



"NO!" The scream that ripped from my throat was desperate and feral, rattling at the back of my throat. As I began to throw myself forward to do anything—to get to America, to kill that—that _monster_ , a pair of strong arms stopped me. I lunged forward again, trying to work around the new obstacle, but both arms keeping a firm grip so that I couldn't escape. They were a steel cage, an iron curtain meant to keep me back. My eyes remained trained on that figure at the end of the corridor. There was so much loathing in my heart, so much hatred. I could barely even feel myself clawing at the arms that held me back or my teeth gritting in my mouth. It was some sort of savage beast that had been loosed inside of me.

Japan watched me with no expression on his face as gun lowered just slightly. I plunged forward again only to find myself held tightly to a broad chest. I twitched and fought, hating it when a hand was drawn along my scalp, along my hair. "Calm, _dushenka_. Calm." Tears were already streaming down my cheeks and I continued to fight every few seconds.

I wanted to—

I wanted—

There was a weak cough and my attention refocused on my Nation—on America. Before anyone could blink, Canada rushed out of his cover in a darkened room ten feet away and looped his arm underneath his twin's shoulder. There was a loud sound and I felt myself being pushed back. Bullets ricocheted off the walls as Japan fired at least three more rounds. Russia shifted to the side, blocking me entirely from the doorway. He was using himself as a barrier. Keeping me from seeing the bloodshed, keeping the bullets from shedding my blood. I heard America's pained wail and I knew—I knew that _another_ bullet had hit him.

Another bullet into an already wounded man.

Into an already wounded Nation.

"You bastard!" I whispered almost to myself. I felt my anger skyrocket when America whimpered. My struggle renewed and I shouted at the top of my lungs. "JAPAN! YOU BASTARD!" I continued to yell until the large metal door was thrown shut.

That door cut off my struggles, too. I went still, limp. Sobs slowly built up and I felt the pressure of the arms tighten in support. No, no. I couldn't—I couldn't lose it right now. I had to—I pushed aginst the chest. The arms continued to contain me for a few more seconds before I was able to pry myself free. More like Russia had simply released his hold. He was too strong to escape otherwise. Some part of me knew that, but I was too far gone.

America was at the very edge of the circle—the circle that I _couldn't_ leave. I rushed up to the edge, slamming down onto my knees with painful force. There was a pop and a jolt of pain rushed up my leg, but I ignored it. The tears from that pain just joined with my crying. He was gasping, looking up at the ceiling as if some salvation would come—but I knew that none would. America was in shock.

Blood was everywhere. It was all over his uniform, all over his jacket, all over the floor.

Red. Red. Red.

So much of it.

Always so much blood.

Some was even melting from his mouth.

And he looked so young, terribly young. Frighteningly young. Too young to go through something like this. He wasn't ready. He was never ready. No matter how prepared he thought he was for this…he wasn't.

My wide eyes watched the movement of America's lips. His eyes shifted a bit until those blue irises stared in Britain's direction. He was looking for something, something that Britain was too stunned to give. An answer. An explanation. Why?

Why?

It was the question I was asking myself. The question every human asks themselves at some point or other. Why my country? Why me? Why my people? Why not them? Why not the bad guys? Why not someone else? Why me? Why us? Why? Why? Why? Why?

My heart began to ache, pound, shiver against my chest as I struggled to breath. I chanced to reach my hand out and I placed it on his chest before drawing my hand away as if he were on fire.

I touched him again at the shoulder. Then again on the chest. Each time I drew my hand away, unsure of what to do.

This couldn't be happening...

It couldn't be—

November 7, 1941.

We knew it would be early.

One month exactly.

It was early.

He changed the date.

Changed the time.

_My fault._

Both of my hands reached out again and grabbed ahold of his leather jacket, grasping onto it for dear life. I could feel blood there, slicking the leather. I held on tighter. This shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have. Without me, at a later date, but not…Not when…Desperate sobs wracked my body as I leaned forward and placed my head on my arms. I coughed every few moments, not getting enough air into my folded lungs as I cried. "I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, America. I-I—"

"P-Pearl—" My head lifted and I looked to where he was still staring at Britain, eyes flickering momentarily toward where Matt was ripping up his shirt for bandages. He was checking to make sure they were alright, to make sure Mattie was safe. And that Britain was uninjured. His eyes glanced over to me. I felt myself so still, scared that one wrong breath would harm him. His eyes squeezed shut again as a wave of pain crashed over him.

"Hold yourself t-together," Britain ordered. His green eyes flickered down to me and I didn't know what to make of that look. Was it accusation or pity? He glanced back down to America's face and brushed the hair from his eyes. It was a tender, brotherly gesture. And I felt my heart break. I had to do something. "Come on, you wanker. You're the hero, right? Prove it now."

In response, America's eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain overcame him. I felt sick, bile rising in my throat. My head lowered again to rest on my arms and I gripped his jacket even tighter, shutting my eyes with such force that they began to hurt. My hands were quivering, my entire body shaking.

This wasn't just America that had been shot. It was Pearl Harbor. I knew it was. Thousands were dying halfway around the world. And I knew more about that day than any almost any other in American history. I took oral histories for a research assistantship in graduate school. People were drowning, burning to death, incinerating. Fighting back, downing enemy planes. Sons would never return home to their parents. Fathers to their children. Husbands to their wives. Brothers…

I'd do anything for Corey, if only to make sure he would come home safe from war. If only to ensure that those officers would never make that long walk to my mother's front door, to tell us... If only to help him. To help them. To protect _my family_. If I had any right to call America my brother, then I would live by that same idea. I'd do anything for America.

Anything… to make sure he was safe.

My head lifted and my tears slowed to a stop. I felt the emotion slipping from my face. Hard certainty replaced my fear. One of my shaking hands released his jacket and rose to rest on the side of his face. His frightened blue eyes turned to me and I forced a tearful smile. He couldn't speak, but I could see the question there. "I'll—I'll fix this."

Before he could even start to respond, and I could see he was fighting to, I pushed myself back and struggled to stand. My right knee was aching terribly and my limp was worse than it had been in months. I might've cracked the kneecap when I fell to the floor. When I was just a few feet away, my tired and heavy eyes turned to Britain. "Keep him still. He…won't like this."

Britain pressed his lips together, considering me for a moment, before he nodded.

"You should pull him to the other side of the circle. The Axis will soon breach the room. Once the circle is fully active, there will be a shield of magical energy."

I glanced to Norway and saw him extending a hand toward Canada, who took it with a grateful smile. Matt gave me a single look and, really, that was all that needed to be exchanged with us. I nodded to him. He nodded back to me. We had already said our peace. He knew what I planned to do. And he approved, for better or worse. Glancing toward the tallest Nation, I felt concern for him as well. He was doubled over, gripping his midsection. "Russia—"

"I will guard door. Until the circle activate, you will be open to attack." He took a step backward, straightened up to his full height, and bowed slightly to me. Despite my fear of what was to come and my utter self-loathing for what was happening, I felt some pride well in me. Russia was a loyal friend, to the end. Still willing to guard the door against all odds. I hobbled forward, reached down and took his hand for a single moment, if only to tell him that I would make everything alright. He nodded to me and turned away. My grip loosened and I looked back to where they were settling America at the edge of the room.

If a shield truly did activate, then he would be safe.

"Michelle."

I looked over to Britain, seeing him gesturing for me to meet him at the edge of the circle. I paced over and stood just a foot away. He eyed me critically for a few moments before sighing. "Do not do something overly foolish, will you? This…This—What happened was _not_ your fault. It was only a matter of time before Japan attacked. We all know that."

His words hit me like a bullet in the gut. I nearly doubled over from the force of that reassurance. It was such…a change. A change from when we first met. Shaking my head, I felt a smile pull at the corners of my lips. There was something I desperately needed to tell him, I realized. Something that needed to be said before—the worst that could happen. Reaching over the boundary of the circle, I pulled him to me in a fierce hug. I could feel him stiffen at the close contact. "You are my friend, you know. Have been for a few weeks." He recoiled as if I had hit him, eyes going wide. I released him. Giving a single nod, I turned and walked back to where the troll had been standing this whole time.

"I believe you were going to ask me a question," the troll surmised. His mossy brows rose in dramatic curiosity.

"Hurry this along, would you?" Norway drolled as he prowled around the edge of the circle. "We don't have much time." Just as he said this, there was a pounding on the door. Behind me, I heard Russia ready his gun. The thundering grew louder and louder, many voices joining the yells from outside. The door wouldn't remain locked for long. Anticipation and fear lanced through me, traveling through my veins. Shifting, I gritted my teeth as the pain cut up my leg again. If they were smart they wouldn't even bother with—with trying to break it down. It would be quicker and more efficient to just blow the door clear off the hinges. My eyes went wide.

Oh God! My eyes scanned all around the room to make sure that everyone was safe. Only Norway was—

"Norway!" I heard my voice like some distant echo. His eyes turned to me with little emotion as he stopped. The worst place to pause. I felt my heart nearly thunder out of my chest. "The shield!" I yelled over my shoulder as I ran toward him, hand reaching out. I ignored the pain, ignored the agony as I slammed the foot down onto the concrete as I began to run. His deep blue eyes were going wide with my actions, but he didn't move. I couldn't move as fast as before, whatever injury I had with my knee hindering my movements. I might be too late. "Troll-the shield!"

"Payment?" The trolled questioned. What was he talking about? Norway was about to- "The shield costs something, just like everything else."

The pounding outside the door stopped when my hand wrapped around Norway's wrist. It was coming. It was coming!

I sucked in a breath, heart thundering in my chest. There was a cacophony of voices, shouting my name, shouting other things. They knew what was coming, too. They knew! I knew! I had to get to him. "The watch. You can have the watch. Raise the shield. Now!" It couldn't have been more than _two seconds_. I pulled Norway into the circle, yanking him toward me with such force that he stumbled behind me and crashed to his knees.

In the next instant, I was on the floor.

My ears were ringing and my vision was blurred.

For a few moments I forgot about everything.

About the world.

About the beautiful things in it.

And the terrifying nightmares.

I was in a twilight, a place that was both real and not real. White haze floated in my vision. It was somewhere between waking and dreaming. I felt my head lolling around on the concrete, the hard feel of it behind my head. I couldn't control it. I couldn't really _feel_ anything else. I could hear a voice though. Somewhere in the mist. Somewhere in the haze. My head hurt so much. It hurt.

" _Up."_

The loudest sound imaginable made my ears ring, but the fog was beginning to lift. Though I looked around and saw the smoke-shrouded faces of my friends yelling, I couldn't hear them though. I could only see their mouths opening and closing, frantic. It swept through me like a wildfire, the pain. Groaning, I blinked a few times and pressed my hand to my side and drew it away. I held it in front of my face, so I could see it clearly.

It looked red.

My own blood. This time.

Letting out an unsteady breath, I felt my side seize and the pain ripped through my right side unlike anything I had ever felt before. It took all I had not to scream, but I clamped my mouth shut. My jaw was locked together. I had a mission to accomplish. I had to finish it. I had to get this over with. I had to succeed. I had to. I had to win. Against them. Against myself. Holding my side, I eased myself up and felt—rather than heard—the sound rush back into my ears. It was muted, but present.

"Michelle! Michelle!"

I glanced around to where Britain was beating on the shield. Blue sparks flew from the magic with every desperate strike. Sucking in a breath, I winced at the pain in my side. I glanced down to see a splinter of metal embedded in my abdomen, just under my ribcage. My breath caught as I turned toward the blasted open doorway. Bits of metal were planted here and there into the concrete. A closed blast. Fish in barrel. Russia was edging his way back to a more defensible position as a figure stepped into the room. Quickly followed by another.

And Prussia.

Turning back toward the troll, I tried to edge myself forward. I could barely hear my voice. It almost sounded as if it were in my head rather than spoken out loud. I shivered involuntarily, flinching when my muscle seized around what I guessed to be a pretty sizable wound. My mind couldn't even process that the shrapnel was still there. "How—" Warmth was spreading down my forehead as well. Blood, I guessed. It was neither here nor there. Not there. I gasped in a breath, greedily trying to get air in my lungs so I could speak clearly. "How much—to re-reset—the timeline?"

"You do not wish to go home?" The troll questioned, a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Timeline—What…do you want?"

"Michelle…" I glanced over to where Norway was rolling onto his stomach, hand actually reaching out for me. "Don't—"

"It is a sizable task." The troll made a thoughtful noise.

I heard something behind me and glanced back as best as I could to find that Prussia was on the floor, bleeding from the head. He was struggling to stand while Russia was holding his shoulder, preparing for another attack. His gun was discarded and the bloodied cane was resting on his shoulder with his free hand. I couldn't let this continue. Not like this. Not with such a disadvantage. "How... much?"

"Whatever you treasure most," the troll answered.

The air rushed from my lungs and I was shaking. I could tell if it was from fear, blood loss, grief, or all of the above. It could have been anything. I was dying. My arms began to feel cold. I could barely feel the clammy sweat on my hands. My vision was starting to tunnel and I heard my name mumbled one final time. I glanced over to my left. Norway was murmuring something under his breath, though I couldn't quite hear his words. His shaking hand was grasping onto the anchor stone globe. It wasn't him who had said my name though and I blearily shifted my attention away. My eyes trailed along until I met another pair of wide blue eyes. Gritting my teeth, I gave him a close-lipped smile—so that he couldn't see the blood in my mouth, so that he wouldn't know. He didn't need to know what I knew. His lips moved again. "Please..."

My head shook slowly, hair falling into my face.

And turned back to the troll.

Wincing, I lifted my right hand and kept my left one holding my heavily bleeding side. "D-Deal." There was the pop of gunfire. Someone was yelling about _'bella signoras'_ over the chaos. Someone was murmuring my name, yelling my name desperately through the encroaching blackness. Someone was whispering words I couldn't understand. This was different from general unconsciousness. I could feel the weight of it in my rattling chest, rattling like death. A German-accented voice was shouting commands.

"D-Deal," I murmured again. "Only m-me th-though. Just me."

I swore to myself that I would do anything I could to protect them.

To protect their peoples.

Everything. Anything.

" _Whatever you treasure most."_

In my power.

To keep them safe.

" _You will have to sacrifice."_

To make them safe.

My friends.

My _family_.

My trembling hand remained aloft, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm. My strength to keep my hand up was hard fought. I struggled with my fading consciousness to keep that deal available. With victory in his white eyes, the troll reached down and, before he could take my hand, the shadows faded away for a single moment. I could see with _perfect clarity_.

Italy was beating on the shield, blue sparks flying, anger clear on his face. Anger over what, I didn't know. Norway was still murmuring something under his breath, staring up at me with emotionless blue eyes, hands grasping at a multicolored orb. America was struggling now, struggling as Britain held him back. Tears were streaming from green eyes. He was crying for me. My friend. Canada was firing his gun over the edge of the domed shield, giving Russia some back up while Ivan took a vicious swing at the already downed Prussia. Germany was standing with his back to the wall, staring at me with wide eyes.

I was going to fix it.

The mistakes I had made.

What could I _see_ though? I couldn't tell. Nations. People. Friends. Foes. War. It was barely an instant of vivid color and movement when everything just went white.

Pure white.

Bright white.

I could see nothing. I was nothing. I would always be nothing. And nothing could be done about it.

No time to think.

No time to breathe.

No time to cry.

No time.

Just, _white._


	32. Epilogue

"Remarkable news for one Tennessee family today, just some evidence that hope and perseverance... really does pay off." The image on the screen changed to a picture of a young woman with dishwater brown hair and a nice smile. Her arms were thrown around the neck of a young man that was wearing military fatigues. "This is Dr. Michelle Daniels and her brother, Army Sergeant Corey Daniels. On June 26th of 2015, two years ago, Michelle went missing from her suburban Kansas City community college. She worked as an adjunct professor there for two years before her sudden disappearance. There were no leads and it seemed that there was simply no trace of where I  had gone. Some feared the worst."

"Some said she was buried around there," an elderly man commented while straightening his leather vest. A red, white, and blue bandana was tied around his long silver hair. Underneath his image, it was explained that this was the grandfather of the missing woman. "Some said that they saw her get taken. Some said that she took off. I never believed it. Never believed any of it. Ever. They can always come home."

"Well," the screen returned to a middle-aged news anchor. Her smile was wide and seemingly ecstatic with the story she was about to break. "After two years of no news and endless searching, Dr. Michelle Daniels has been found. That's right. She has been found. It's a story nothing short of amazing because somehow…She was found overseas."

"Dr. Michelle Daniels was found in Berlin, Germany at five hundred hours—that's five this morning." A Kansas City police spokesman said as cameras flashed as sweat beaded his brow. He cleared his throat. "She was in critical condition and is being treated at a local hospital as we speak. We cannot discuss her injuries in detail, but efforts are being made to assure her survival and ultimate full recovery. Evidence of previous injuries indicates that she has been under extreme duress during the time that she was missing." He shifted and looked directly at the cameras. "It is requested that the media give her and her family time to recover. And, please give time for the police to perform a proper investigation into her disappearance. Thank you."

"We are all just happy to hear that she will be returning home alive." Shifting the blond turned to look at another camera. "Now, Michelle's condition has been lifted from critical to serious. Her injuries are still extremely life-threatening, but doctors are making headway in her treatment. We will keep the public posted on these developments as we receive them." The woman straightened her papers and smiled widely again. "What a miracle this must be for her family. Two years without a trace and back in the blink of an eye. They must be over the moon." She paused and brushed the hair from her face. "Our thoughts and prayers go to them and to Michelle herself as they battle through this recovery."

The remote was lifted.

A button was pressed and the television went black.

_History has no end._


End file.
